The Labyrinth
by smuffly
Summary: A social event turns into something far more deadly when Adam, Mac and Danny attend a party high up in the mysterious Thorne Tower. Early Season 4; whole team featured.
1. Chapter 1

**THE LABYRINTH**

**A/N: This story follows the Season 4 opening episode, "Can You Hear Me Now?" The event that Adam is recalling in Chapter One takes place at the end of Season 3, in "Snow Day". That incident is retold from Adam's perspective, with added detail, in my earlier story, "The Pawn", but it isn't necessary to read that story before you read this one.**

**For the purpose of this story, the effects of 'Snow Day', both physical and emotional, have lasted longer than they appear to do in the show itself. Therefore, the damage sustained by Adam and Danny has not yet healed.**

**Enormous thanks to 1917farmgirl, who kindly donated the original plot bunny.**

**Oh - and for those of you who have been requesting Mac and Adam in danger together? Time to fulfil my promise...**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, I'm sad to say. I'm just borrowing them for a while. I'll put them back exactly as I found them... well, **_**almost**_** exactly...**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"A mighty maze! but not without a plan." Alexander Pope.**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**CHAPTER ONE**

Thorne Tower was a monolith.

It rose up from the street in clean dark lines. Black windows covered every inch of its surface, gleaming with reflected light. Against the evening sky, the tower itself was almost invisible. With haughty scorn - if a building could be said to have emotions - it held itself apart from the more elaborate concrete structures that huddled nearby like kneeling courtiers. Its stark simplicity made them look strangely ridiculous, as though they were trying too hard to impress, with their sloping tiles and their gargoyles; their rooftop gardens and their balconies of stone.

The entrance to this pinnacle of modern architecture was discreet, yet equally forbidding. Two steel doors, in burnished charcoal grey, with just one mark: the sigil of the reclusive Marcus Thorne. A white crown in a ring of twisting black roses.

Hail to the King of Manhattan.

A pair of guards stood motionless on either side of the doors. Their faces were immobile, but their eyes roamed incessantly over the gathering crowd, as though daring someone to challenge them before the hour had struck.

Tonight marked a special occasion. The first time that Thorne Tower had opened its doors to any member of the public since its completion a month ago. Glittering members of New York's elite thronged the streets in the hopes of glimpsing someone famous. Someone even more important than they were - because who else could possibly have won a pass to the social event of the season, pushing debutantes, millionaires and stars aside?

Yet the guests, when they started to arrive, were surprising...

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Adam Ross glared at the mirror and stamped his foot in sheer frustration.

Who was he kidding? This was never going to work.

He should have opted for a clip-on...

His right hand ached with the strain of repeatedly trying to fasten his bow tie correctly. Adam let out a hiss and flexed it carefully, peering at the shiny new skin from the corner of his eye. Four pink circles, creased from repeated bending. Four reminders.

He hated them.

Would they ever truly heal?

Studying them was a constant compulsion - but every time he did, they took him straight back to that warehouse; the fear, the sharp smell of cigarettes, and the pain...

_Don't go there._

This was meant to be a night of celebration.

"Yeah, right," Adam snorted to himself. "All by myself, in a room full of strangers. Trying to make polite conversation as they size me up and wonder what I'm doing there, and how I managed to sneak in..."

At first, he'd thought of asking Kendall. She was smart, she was stunning to look at and she was witty - the perfect companion for such an event. Except, of course, for the fact that she was smart, she was stunning to look at and she was witty - everything that he was not. Even Adam had his pride; and for once, just _once_, he yearned to step out of the shadows and be himself. The real Adam Ross. The one that had to be in there somewhere, behind the bumbling lab tech, waiting to fling off his white coat and show the world that he was a hero all along...

_And now you've lost it completely,_ he sighed.

Some hero.

Who was it that had saved the day in the warehouse? Danny, of course. Which of them had cowered against the wall? Had given up everything? Had cried like a girl...

Adam trembled in shame. Once more, he pushed the memory away.

_I don't want to go,_ a small voice said inside his head.

The tie hung limply around his neck, symbol of his stupidity. He lifted his hand to remove it - just as a confident knock echoed through his apartment.

_Who...?_

Adam had kept his secret well, or so he thought. There was only one person that he had told, and that was because they had caught him with the invitation in his hand, staring at it blankly as the messenger strode away.

"Danny?" he mumbled.

It took several minutes to undo the locks and bolts that held his door in place. Adam's neighbourhood was not a friendly one, but the rent was cheap, and the building itself was cleaner than most in the area. "Coming... I'm coming," he stammered, as he clicked and turned and slid the barriers aside. When at last the door swung open - sure enough, it was Danny's grinning face that Adam saw.

And one more person behind him.

"Mac!" gasped the lab tech, more stunned by his boss's presence than by the fact that both men were wearing tuxedos, just like him.

"Going for the casual look, hey Ross?" smirked Danny, with a sly glance at his dangling tie. The gaze slid down even further - and froze in silent mirth at the sight of Adam's converse sneakers, peeping out from beneath the hems of his overlong pants.

Mac, of course, was immaculate.

Even Danny cleaned up well, it seemed. Only the tape on his fingers seemed awkward, and out of place.

A flush crept down the back of Adam's neck; past the troublesome tie and his borrowed shirt, becoming a trickle of moisture as it reached the curve of his spine.

Did sweat wash out? He hoped so. This tuxedo was costly to hire, and he had to take it back the day after tomorrow - clean and undamaged. Every stain and every tear would raise the fee by another $10.

Adam didn't plan to eat or drink much tonight. The risk to his wallet was simply too great.

"Can we come in?" Mac said.

"Oh - yes, of course." Adam waved them through the door with a distracted air. As Danny passed him, the lab tech whispered urgently. "What are you_ doing_ here?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

They stood in the middle of his tiny apartment. Picturing the scene through Mac's eyes, Adam's cosy home became riddled with flaws. Rubble in the kitchen from a hurried snack. Books everywhere, and a stack of games on the floor beside the couch. "I was just... I'm sorry, it's usually neater than this..." He gave a helpless shrug.

"Adam. This is your home, not the lab. And it's nice." Mac smiled. His eyes were tired, but the warmth was genuine.

"Oh."

Nice. A word that could be taken several ways. Adam's foot slid out and nudged an empty pizza box further beneath the coffee table. His muttered excuse had been the truth - Adam wasn't a careless man. If anything, he tended towards an obsessive neatness. Lately, life just seemed a little... overwhelming. He was a tiny fish being swept along by a vast, relentless ocean. Adam sighed.

"Yo. Buddy. You still with us? You're looking a little zoned out." Danny leaned in, his blue eyes sharp and focussed behind his glasses.

_"I know you're afraid... But you are going to do this..."_

The echo made him jump. He covered it quickly with words, as he always did.

"You want to come with me?" Adam raised his eyebrows. "That's kind, okay, Danny - but really, I don't suppose it's going to be all that exciting. Just a bunch of total strangers and some tacky ceremony. Maybe some food..."

"You kiddin' me? Adam - you've got the hottest ticket in town. Why do you look like someone just spilt beer on your X-box?"

Ha ha. Adam opened his mouth to protest, but Mac was already stepping in; the voice of reason, as always.

"You're going," he told the lab tech firmly. "Why go alone?"

"Trust me," Danny added, "it'll be much more fun this way."

Fun. Adam quailed. A social event with his wise-cracking colleague - and his boss.

_I should have invited Kendall after all..._

Too late now.

"No problem," he said. "I'll just get my coat."

"Adam. Come here," Mac told him quietly. Reaching out, he took the ends of Adam's tie. With a few deft moves, he created a neat bow. Danny grinned, admiring the effect.

"Much better."

"Thanks, boss," Adam mumbled. Taking up his coat, he led them back to the door - darting sideways at the very last moment to grab the ticket from his bag. _That was close._

"By the way," Mac said, "we took the liberty of hiring a cab."

Adam nodded. _Overwhelmed,_ he thought once more, letting go completely as his colleagues took control and swept him off into the night...

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed it! I'd love to know what you think :D**

**Next update will be on Friday.**


	2. Chapter 2

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"The most I can do for my friend is simply be his friend." (Henry David Thoreau)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Two**

"You gonna eat that?"

Passing by, Don Flack eyed the muffin with careful indifference.

"C minus," was Jessica Angell's cryptic reply.

"Come again?"

"Your face. That innocent look. C minus. Could try harder."

"Ouch!" He clutched his chest in the general region of his heart - but his eyes were still on the muffin. Jess opened her top drawer and threw a health bar in his general direction. Don snagged it in midair and frowned.

"You tryin' to tell me something?"

"Not at all." Now it was Jess who looked innocent. The man was so easy to tease, it was almost a duty. She picked up the muffin - double chocolate, for double the temptation - and peeled off the wrapper, breathing in the heavenly scent with maybe a little more delight than she would normally convey.

"There's a circle reserved in hell for people like you," Don said darkly, stalking off to his own desk to nurse his injured pride. He had already opened the bar, though, she noted.

Around them, the precinct was strangely peaceful. No scumbags to process, no witnesses being grilled for every tiny scrap of information. Just a handful of officers and detectives, struggling with the paperwork that dogged their downtime. Procrastination was an art form, and everyone there was a master with years of experience under their belt. Don, in particular, had a mountain of files on his desk. So far, he hadn't touched them. With amusement, Jess saw that he had already topped the pile with his abandoned wrapper. The health bar itself was nowhere in sight. Leaning back in his chair, Don swallowed the last bite down and looked around for more. Jess lifted a piece of muffin with delicate fingers and popped it between her lips, making noises of deep satisfaction.

Was that drool in the corner of his mouth?

Don took a deep breath, no doubt preparing to launch a scathing remark in her direction - just as his phone rang. He answered quickly, the consummate professional. Not a trace of sulkiness remained. His eyes sent a silent message. _Time to go,_ they said.

The rest of the muffin was downed at speed. She barely tasted it.

At last. Some action.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They sat in the back of the cab; three penguins in a row. The middle penguin was looking rather squashed, and very nervous. His blue eyes darted here and there, watching the city fly by as he struggled to keep a respectful inch of air between his shoulder and that of his boss. Every bump in the road made him draw back even further, which meant that he was almost sitting on Danny's lap at this point. Kindly, Mac pretended not to notice. Danny resisted the urge to push Adam away.

_Was I wrong to invite Mac?_ he wondered.

This morning, it had seemed like the right thing to do. It still did, even now, if Danny was being totally honest with himself. Mac had been... distracted, ever since he got back from London. And there were dark circles under his eyes, suggesting that his sleep pattern was fighting to get back to normal. A night out was just what he needed. A chance to laugh and drink, and hang out with the guys...

Danny peered sideways at the jittery lab tech. Adam's fingers were poking out of his over-large sleeves, playing with the hem as though they were searching for something constructive to do. If he kept that up, it would be worn away completely by the end of the evening.

Okay, maybe hanging out with Adam wasn't going to be all that relaxing. But that, right there - that was the second reason for asking Mac along.

Adam.

In Danny's humble, non-medical opinion, one week off after being held hostage at gunpoint by a bunch of Irish goons wasn't anywhere near enough time to recover. And yet, according to Lindsay, there the man was, bright and early, the very first day that he was allowed back to work. Almost as though he had been hovering outside the door, counting down the hours and minutes until his sick leave ran out. Danny himself had been allotted ten days, due to the added severity of his injuries. Enforced rest had never been his style, but he had made himself go through with it. recognising the need, both physical and emotional. Staying with him whenever she wasn't at the lab, Lindsay had been a rock. Her peaceful smile, her warmth and her humour had kept him sane.

When Danny returned to the crime lab and saw Adam hard at work, he wondered who had done the same for his friend.

Did Adam have no-one?

_He should have had you,_ said a quiet voice inside Danny's head. _Or Mac..._ But Danny was housebound, Mac was in London, and the rest of the CSIs were hard pushed to keep up with their caseload, being short of so many hands. Had the lab tech slipped through the cracks? Maybe Stella had thought that Sheldon was checking up on him. And Sheldon could have assumed that one of his tech friends was visiting. Kendall, perhaps - they seemed fairly amicable, in a joky, competitive kind of way. But that was work, and this was... different.

Adam, in turn, said nothing at all about it - neither his time at home, nor the incident itself. If anything, he was brighter than usual, and full of open humour. But his face still held faint traces of the terrible bruising, and he clenched and unclenched his right hand in a regular, convulsive way. Danny noticed. And he knew.

Three times, he had tried to talk to Adam. Any probing questions were deflected immediately with clumsy jokes, or the sudden memory of an important task that sent the man scooting away at top speed. After his third failed attempt, Danny noticed that the lab tech was starting to avoid him completely, unless there were plenty of other people around. Not good. Adam needed to talk to someone. And he needed to do it soon.

Danny nominated Mac.

Not that his boss had any idea of his cunning plan, of course. But this wild invitation had been the perfect opportunity to bring both men together and then take a step back himself. Maybe Mac was a little off his game right now, but the man had a radar system that was infallible. Give him a few hours with Adam to really observe him, and that should do the trick.

The only problem he foresaw was convincing Mac to come along.

Yet, to Danny's great surprise and delight, his boss had jumped at the chance.

Maybe he knew more than Danny realised.

_Maybe?_

Come on. This was Mac. Of course he did.

"So, Adam," Danny said, by way of a conversation starter. "How'd you score such a sweet ticket anyway? You never told me."

Mac raised his eyebrows. Clearly, he had been wondering the same thing.

Adam gave a wary grin. "You'll laugh..." he warned them.

"Try us," Mac said.

"I won it." There was a pink spot, high on both cheeks, as Adam flushed with unexpected pride. "The other week, when I was... okay, well, there was this competition online, you see. To write a paper and submit it. I needed to take my mind off... um, stuff, and this seemed like the perfect thing."

Danny fixed him with a level gaze - or as level as he could manage, since the taxicab was currently veering around a corner, throwing them all to the side. "That's cool. A paper on what?"

Adam shrugged. "Probability and chance. Game theory, and its application to computerised security systems."

"Odd subject." Mac sounded interested. "Was that your idea, or theirs?"

"Security was the topic." Adam's smile was charming. "Guess I added my own twist. Anyway, it worked. They picked seven finalists - and I was one of them. That's what this evening is all about."

Danny was impressed. "So what's the ultimate prize?" he demanded. "Other than this party, of course. Fortune and glory?"

"Respect," said Adam quietly.

Both men stared at him.

"Adam. You have respect," Mac said. "Everyone in the lab knows how hard you work."

"Oh. Um, yeah, I know." The pink spots spread, and the blush became more violent. "In the lab. Sure, boss. I just thought..." He tailed off, unable to put his feelings into words.

"Hey - it's nice to be recognised," Danny finished for him. "Right?"

"Yeah. Thanks." Adam's voice was soft by now. Mac's face was troubled.

_Bingo, _Danny thought, as he watched the first part of his plan fall right into place.

It was clear that Mac wanted to pursue the matter further. However, just as he opened his mouth, the taxi drew to a squealing halt. The resulting tangle served as the perfect distraction - _lucky for Adam,_ thought Danny - and by the time they spilled out onto the sidewalk, all conversation was driven from their minds by the noisy, milling crowd and the sight of Thorne Tower rising above them, darker than night.

Danny had never considered himself to be a nervous man. But right now, staring upwards, his heart was pounding.

"You can stick this under the heading of 'Things I Never Thought I'd Do'," he muttered.

Adam giggled. The three men glanced at each other for support and took a deep breath.

"Come on," Mac said. "Let's go earn you that respect..."

And together, they marched up to the door, with its two forbidding sentries.

_Please, sir - we want to see the wizard,_ said the wry voice that lived inside Danny's head.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: Enormous thanks to all of those people who posted a review for the first chapter, or followed/favourited this fic. You made my day!**

**Next chapter will be up on Sunday.**

**See you then!**


	3. Chapter 3

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"Death makes sad stories of us all." (Tim Schafer)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Three**

"Two for the price of one?" Sheldon joked, as he stepped through the doorway into the victim's penthouse apartment, a hop and a skip behind Stella, and saw both detectives standing in the hallway.

"Slow night," Don said, by way of an explanation.

"Paperwork," Jess mouthed, behind him. Sheldon grinned.

"'Nuff said. So, what've we got?"

They crossed the wide open space of the red and black living area, which was styled in a geometric, minimalist fashion. Not really to Sheldon's taste, but he understood the appeal of such serenity in this complex modern world. Detective Angell was in the lead, and took them straight to the bathroom - which, by comparison, was the height of luxury. Cleanliness was definitely high on this man's list of priorities. Black and white tiles, expensive gold fittings, a porcelain 'throne' and, most extravagant of all, an enormous jacuzzi style bathtub, so big that it was practically a swimming pool.

_Shame about the body dumped inside it,_ Sheldon thought.

'Dumped' was the right word. The tub was empty of water, and the unclothed body had been posed in an ungainly manner, almost as though it had been dropped from a great height - were it not for the tell-tale smear of blood that led across the tiles from the door.

Moving closer, Sheldon studied the victim with the practised eye of a man who had already seen more corpses in his life than he cared to number. Sid Hammerback kept count, according to OCME gossip. A curious trait that Sheldon had no desire to imitate. Each body was an individual. A person, robbed of life. That was all he knew, and all he needed to know, in order to do his job.

The man in the tub looked far too young to own such an elegant apartment. With his long, shaggy hair, his mild rash of acne and his pitiful attempt at a beard, Sheldon would have expected to find such a character in student digs or, at best, a tiny studio - his first real place in the city. His lack of clothes made him seem even more vulnerable; like a child in a man's world, who had lost his way and paid the ultimate price.

"Rudy Nash," Flack said, anticipating their first question. "Computer geek."

"And trust fund baby?" Stella asked.

"You'd think," the detective nodded. "But no. He earned all this by tapping away at a keyboard. Go figure. Guess I'm in the wrong job after all..."

The image of Don stuck in front of a computer screen all day, complete with dark-rimmed glasses, a t-shirt from some old rock band, five o'clock shadow and rumpled hair, popped irresistibly into Sheldon's mind. He blinked, and swallowed back an errant chuckle.

"Guess you are," he agreed. Stella smiled serenely - but there was a twinkle in her eye that made him suspect her of harbouring a similar thought.

Bending over the body, Sheldon peered closely at Rudy Nash's left arm. "Strange," he said.

"What's that?" A subtle and familiar scent washed over him, as Stella moved in closer.

"See these marks on his wrist and his bicep?" Sheldon's eyes travelled further across the body. "Torso. Legs and neck. Matching lines on his other arm..."

"Some kind of ligature?" she guessed. Sheldon nodded.

"You're saying he was tied up at some point," Jess put in. "We noticed that too. But there are no ropes of any kind in this apartment. Maybe the killer took them with him?"

"Quite likely." Returning to the left arm, Sheldon gestured to a jagged slice. "Cause of death, transection of the brachial artery. Too much blood loss for anyone to withstand. But there's not enough here to make this the primary crime scene..."

Don nodded. Disgust was evident in the curl of his lip, and the line between his brows. "That would be the bedroom. Follow me..."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Exotic." Stella's eyes grew wide with startled appreciation.

"You're lookin' at decor?" Don said. "When there's a great big pool of blood on... well, I guess you could call that a bed."

"It's a futon," Sheldon corrected him firmly. "Very good for posture. I had one myself for a while. But you're right. That's a whole lot of blood."

As with his bathroom, Nash's bedroom was surprising - and not just because of the gory mess left by the killer. It was a study in shades of grey; all except for one wall which had a stark white background, overlaid with an intricate, silhouetted picture of a tree. Peering closer, Stella noticed that the twigs which burst from every branch were actually made up of random words, in twisted black writing. She traced a few with her finger, trying to untangle the knot of letters, and smiling each time she succeeded. _Intellect. Paradox. Fallacy. Truth... _The illusion was clever, and beautiful.

"Stella," Jess said quietly behind her. "What are you thinking?"

"That Nash was a far more complex man than his outward appearance suggests."

She moved across to the only other piece of furniture in the room, positioned to the right of the unhappy futon. A chest made of cherry wood; rare and expensive. Lifting the lid, she discovered a stash of clothes in a crumpled heap. _Even the most immaculate soul needs a place where they can let go,_ she thought with a nod of understanding. Her mind flew back to a certain secret cupboard in her own apartment. One which no visitor would ever be allowed to see inside... A guilty smile crossed her lips.

"So. Primary scene - am I right?" Don said. His matter-of-fact tone yanked her back to reality with a jolt. "The trail of blood leads from here to the bathroom. Murdered, dragged and dumped."

"There's no doubt in my mind," Sheldon agreed. "Though right now it's hard to imagine why the body was moved at all. What possible motive could there be?" He shrugged. "Oh well - down to work, I guess. I'll take the bathroom, Stella, if you like. You seem to have an affinity for this particular room."

Stella smiled at his humour, and his consideration.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Leaving the two CSIs alone to work, Don and Jess retreated back to the entrance hall and considered their own next move. "Nash was employed by a guy named Marcus Thorne," Don said, with one eye on his notebook. "Isn't that the jackass who built that glass monstrosity downtown?"

"The billionaire, you mean?" Jess smiled. "I think so. Why would he hire a kid like Nash, I wonder?"

"We could ask him." Don shrugged. "Gate-crash his party..."

"Party?" She glared at her partner with a sudden air of deep suspicion. "What party?"

"Oh... well, I heard... It's some kind of grand affair to mark the building's completion. Speeches. Food..." His eyes were appealing. Jess looked grave.

"I see. Good idea. I'll go and do that, then, shall I? Whilst you stay here with Hawkes and Stella?"

Don's exaggerated pout made words unnecessary.

"Fine," Jess chuckled, appearing to relent. _So easy..._ "Leave a uni on the door. We'll go together..."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed so far!**

**Next update should be Tuesday.**


	4. Chapter 4

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"Friends are as companions on a journey." (Pythagoras)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Four**

Adam shoved his left hand into his pocket and fished out the invitation, which was now slightly dog-eared. He held it up with an apologetic look upon his face. "Um - good evening. Can we go in?" he said shyly.

The larger of the two enormous sentinels reached out and snagged the card between sausage-like fingers. His fist was meatier than a ham hock, and almost as pink. The rest of his body was equally vast. _He didn't grow; he was inflated,_ Adam thought wildly._ And they used too much air..._ The bow tie beneath his chin was perfect - a point of envy - but so high up that it threatened to choke him, largely due to the fact that the man had no neck. His head simply topped off the slab that was his body; with a bland face, little piggy eyes and a thin line of bristling hair that travelled from one ear to the other around the back.

Gazing upwards, Adam forced out what he hoped was a confident smile. Next to him, Danny rocked up and down on the balls of his feet, as he often did when he was feeling edgy or excited. Scared that his friend was one twitch away from a reckless comment, Adam turned to Mac with a silent plea for help.

"Adam Ross and friends," Mac said calmly. "We're expected. As you can see." He gestured to the invitation.

Gold-capped teeth sprang into view, as the doorman flashed them a sudden, dazzling smile.

"Yes, you are," he squeaked. Adam's mouth dropped open in astonishment. He snapped it shut at once and hoped that no one had noticed. The doorman may have the voice of a clown, but he was built like a sumo wrestler. No point taking any chances.

Nodding to each other, the two giants reached out in unison and pushed on the grey doors, which swung inwards, cracking the seal through the very centre of the white crown and its circle of roses.

"Welcome to Thorne Tower," the second doorman said, in a bottomless _basso profundo_.

Adam resisted the urge to bow.

They stepped through the doorway and into the building. Instantly, behind them, there was a dull thud and the rattle of unseen bolts, as the door resealed itself.

After that - silence.

Now Adam was doubly nervous.

Mac gave him an encouraging pat on the back. Danny chuckled.

"This is some weird-ass party you got yourself invited to, Adam Ross," he commented.

Adam gave a laugh that was high and shaky.

"Tell me about it," he said.

Together, they stared at their surroundings. The lobby was cavernous and dimly lit, with that 'new building' smell that was the total sensory opposite of Adam's dingy apartment block. Shrugging his fingers even further up inside his long sleeves, he couldn't help feeling more than a little shabby. A church mouse in a cathedral.

"Want to keep going?" he asked them, half of him wishing that their answer would be 'no'. That was 'Wary Adam'; the one who jumped at his own shadow. 'Curious Adam' - his better half - was too busy gazing up at the endless ceiling in admiration.

"We can't go back. They've locked us in." Danny's logic was far from reassuring.

"I think this might be our welcoming committee," Mac said quietly, as a nearby elevator opened its glass doors and a tiny bird of a man hopped out on a pair of skinny legs that were surprisingly nimble. His chest was round, and his stomach was encased in a bright red cummerbund. His head bobbed forwards in a darting, inquisitive manner. Adam watched him approach in wordless fascination. Once more, his mouth was wide open. Grinning, Danny leaned over and eased it back up with a helpful finger beneath his chin.

"Oh. Thanks," Adam murmured.

"Greetings," the bird-man carolled, as he drew near to the three startled men. "I am Robin Farraday."

"Of course you are." Danny's voice was low, and his words were meant for Adam, who spluttered. Beside them, Mac frowned at their lack of respect, making Adam feel like a naughty schoolboy.

Blissfully unaware that he was the butt of Danny's humour, Mr. Farraday reached their side. In height, he was barely level with Mac's chest, but there was a gleam in his eye that warned of a temper within. Adam swallowed and fell silent.

"Allow me to introduce you to Thorne Tower. I am the building's liaison."

_Odd title,_ Adam thought, dipping his head in acknowledgement. Farraday's accent had a slight germanic inflexion. His sentences were clipped and precise. Not a word was wasted.

"Which of you is Adam Ross?" the liaison continued. He gave a hopeful bob in Mac's direction. When Adam raised a tentative hand, the action was mirrored by a twitch in the corner of Farraday's eye. He smoothed it over at once, but Adam knew exactly what he was thinking...

_Oh. How disappointing._

His confidence dropped another notch. Farraday held out a bony claw. Reluctantly, Adam took it. The fingers were cold and thin, like winter twigs. Nor was there any real warmth in the gesture itself. Farraday's grip on his tender palm was so tight that it made him wince. Pulling away as soon as it was polite to do so, Adam's hand retreated back up his sleeve.

"Congratulations, Mr. Ross," the liaison intoned. "I hope that you and your friends will have a pleasant evening." His eyes gleamed as he spoke. The effect was strangely ominous. Adam gave a startled flush. Danny twitched. Beside them, Mac was looking puzzled. "Follow me..."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The elevator was silent, and its rise felt effortless. Through the glass, Mac watched the floors slip by. Dark wall, bright light. Dark wall, bright light. There were no numbers anywhere; this was a non-stop ride. Top floor only. Mac soon gave up counting, and allowed his thoughts to dwell on the thing that was bothering him the most. Their situation.

Which was a strange one, when you thought about it.

Locked in a dark tower, heading upwards, with a guide who was less than friendly.

Perhaps that was an overly bleak view. But Mac's gut was churning, and that was never good. Something else was going on here - he was certain of it. Grimly, he resolved to keep his eyes wide open.

Thank goodness that Danny had refused to let the lab tech go to the party alone. The thought of Adam walking into such a place all by himself was frightening.

Adam. All by himself.

And there it was again. That nasty little prodding sense of guilt. It had followed him all the way to London and back again. He had hoped that coming here tonight would finally drive it out of his system...

_Walking away from the broken lab with Peyton by his side, like some kind of cowboy hero riding off into the sunset, Mac felt strangely numb. Only one thing disturbed him. He couldn't leave the country without seeing for himself that Danny and Adam were really okay. Sending Peyton off to finalise the travel arrangements, Mac made his way to the hospital. That was the easy part._

_Adam was the problem. To Mac's dismay, the young man could hardly bring himself to speak a word beyond a soft 'hello'. Dutiful greeting over and done with, he lowered those clear blue eyes of his; so open before, and now so evasive. The change was alarming to see, as were the bruises on his face._

_Feeling useless and utterly to blame for leaving him at the warehouse in the first place, Mac found that all he had to offer were words of sympathy. Stock phrases and platitudes. They washed over Adam without sinking in; he could tell. The battered lab tech nodded and smiled, and lay back quietly on his bed, trying to hide the marks on his shaking hand as he waited for the specialist to arrive._

_Mac caught a tiny glimpse, and it turned his stomach. With an effort, he hid his reaction and his rage at the men who would do such a thing, to such a man._

_Sensing that he would learn nothing more from Adam at this point, he took the not-so-subtle hint that was Adam's silence and left the man alone. _

_His next stop was Danny's room._

_Here, there was warmth and comfort in the form of Lindsay. Flack lounged nearby too, a dark figure, unusually grim-faced and brooding. It had been an emotional day for all of them._

_"Mac!" said Danny. Somehow, he had managed to retain his usual spark, in spite of his injuries and the blood that still covered his ragged shirt. His hand was a mess. Mac could feel his pain, like a knife through his own skin._

_"Danny. You look awful."_

_"Thanks, boss. Hey - I hear you blew up the lab. If you wanted time off that badly, you could have just taken it..."_

_Mac gave a short, sharp bark of laughter, startling Flack, who jumped as though the sound had woken him out of a dream._

_No, a nightmare._

_"I wouldn't like to be in your shoes when the budget-guys get hold of you," Don said, looking more like his usual self than he had a moment ago._

_"Why do you think I'm going to London?" Mac replied. He stared at Danny. "Give us a moment," he added, aiming his request at the other two visitors in the room. With a squeeze of Danny's unbroken hand, Lindsay rose obediently. Flack was more reluctant._

_"Coffee?" Lindsay suggested, catching Mac's eye and guessing his need._

_Don shrugged at last and peeled away from the wall. He followed her out of the room and closed the door behind him, with one last glance through the tiny window._

_"Now," Mac said. "Tell me everything. About you - and Adam."_

_"He not talking?" Danny guessed, with a shrewd look. "Figures. I had to force it out of him myself, and I don't think I got the full story either. Six hours, Mac. God only knows what they put him through. The rest was bad enough."_

_Without a word, Mac listened as Danny recounted his version of the event. "You were lucky," he breathed at last, when the CSI had finished._

_"I know." Danny's voice was fervent. He looked up. Lindsay's bright eyes were peeping through the glass. Clearly, she couldn't bear to be away from him any longer than necessary. Mac smiled._

_"I'll leave you two alone," he said._

_"Thanks, boss." Danny's look of embarrassment showed Mac that there was far more to the story than even he was admitting. And Lindsay was part of it._

_Leaving the room, Mac tried to return to Adam, but the doctor was there by now and no visitors were allowed._

_He did not see the lab tech again until he returned from London..._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Boss," Adam said in an urgent whisper. "We're here. Come on..." He paused, feeling slightly unsettled by Mac's odd expression. "You okay?"

"I'm fine."

_Not true,_ Adam thought - but now was not the time for delving any deeper. Nor did he have the right to do so. Mac's emotions were private and he rarely shared them; especially not with over-familiar lab techs who didn't know when or how to mind their own business.

As the glass doors sprang open, Robin Farraday leapt out ahead of the three men and turned around to face them. He was smiling, but the smile never reached his eyes.

"Penthouse," he told them. "Welcome to the fun. I shall leave you now. My task is done and I have other duties."

Peering outwards, Adam froze. Danny saw his hesitation and gave him a helpful nudge that sent him stumbling into the room.

"Hey!" Adam gasped. His friend stepped out behind him, followed by his boss. Farraday took their place and the doors swept shut, effectively sealing them in as the elevator dropped away down the shaft like a plummeting stone down a well.

Their fate was before them now. There was no going back.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: I know - I'm early! I couldn't help myself. Sorry if you tried to read chapter 3 on Sunday and couldn't! For some reason, the site was being difficult and wouldn't load it properly until later on that day. Anyway, thank you to those who did see it, and who left a review. I'm having such fun reading all of your comments! Please, please keep them coming :D (I promise lots of peril and excitement in return...)**

**Next chapter will be posted on Thursday.**

**Thank you to 1917farmgirl and also to Lily Moonlight, for the chats that helped to make this chapter better.**


	5. Chapter 5

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"It is easy to decide on what is wrong to wear to a party, such as deep-sea diving equipment or a pair of large pillows, but deciding what is right is much trickier." (Lemony Snicket)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Five**

"Talk about overcompensating..." Don Flack muttered, climbing out of the car and letting his gaze travel upwards. For reasons that he could not fathom, this new addition to the Manhattan skyline was really starting to bother him. And being this close to it certainly didn't improve his opinion. Too tall. Too dark. Too... what was the word?

_Try 'sinister',_ his brain suggested helpfully.

Jess closed the passenger door.

"Don't make jokes like that in front of Thorne," she advised with a grin. "He'll probably sue you for slander."

"Like the guy needs more money?" The detective pulled a face, as he locked the car and led the way towards the jostling crowd at the base of the tower.

"Maybe he spent it all, building this." Jess shrugged. "How much do you reckon it cost?"

"Way I heard it, half a billion. That's insane," Don added, frowning even more deeply.

She glanced at him, clearly taken by the fact that it bothered him. "What would you do? If you had that much?" she asked curiously.

Don considered.

"I'd buy the Knicks," he said, at last. For a moment, his face was solemn - reverent, even. Then he burst out laughing. Jess gave his arm a shove.

"Silly of me to expect a straight answer," she teased him. "Besides, I can tell you myself. It's obvious. You'd give it away. I know you, Detective Flack."

"Oh, you do?" His mouth quirked at the corners, and his eyebrows shot up in playful amusement. She was right, of course, but the fact that she understood him that well was intriguing.

"Yes, I do."

Reaching the throng, Jess tipped him a sly wink and dove right in, her slight form moving easily between the shifting bodies . Seconds later, she had disappeared from sight.

A challenge.

_I like it,_ thought Don, as he launched in after her.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Adam had been to his fair share of parties. Back in college, his first roommate, Troy, had taken the shy boy from Arizona under his wing and shown him what it meant to have fun. He would always be grateful for that; the experience, and the kindness that saw past his crippling nerves and dragged him, blinking, into the light.

Eager charm and bright blue eyes had opened many doors for him. His cluster of friends had become a circle.

He had learned how to laugh.

_Good times,_ he thought, as he stared at the scene before him with a dubious look on his face and a growing sense of disappointment.

"Looks like the party was outside after all," grinned Danny. "This is a geek's convention. Hehehe..."

The room was enormous. Three out of the four walls were composed entirely of floor-to-ceiling windows, giving the illusion that they were floating high up above the city, like a castle in the clouds. Very few of the tower's Manhattan neighbours aspired to such dizzy heights. The rest were far below them, out of sight. Used to working in the crime lab, Adam thought that he would be immune to vertigo by now.

Apparently not.

Squirming his toes inside his sneakers, he tried to anchor himself even more firmly to the floor.

The fourth wall, far away on the opposite side of the room, appeared to be solid - although it was hard to be certain, since most of it was hidden by an enormous banner, showing the face of a man that Adam could only assume was Marcus Thorne. He stared at his guests from beneath a pair of dark and bushy eyebrows, like a professor waiting for silence in an unruly lecture hall. The image was unsettling. The man himself may not have been there yet, but he cast a long shadow that was cool and unpleasant. Adam shivered.

"Where is he?" he whispered. "Thorne, I mean?"

"Maybe he's waiting to make his grand entrance," Mac suggested.

"Maybe he's hiding behind a screen..." quipped Danny.

But there was no screen. In fact, there were only three pieces of furniture in the room. A dais beneath the banner. A table laden with food that made Adam sigh with regret when he recalled his suit, and the vow of abstinence. And a piano, tucked in the far corner, being played by a small and fussy man who was so neat in his movements that he looked almost like an automaton. "Maybe he is," Adam muttered, as soulless arpeggios spilled from the black and white keys.

At this point, he doubted that anything could surprise him.

"Is what?" Danny caught his quiet words.

"Hm?" Embarrassed, Adam pretended not to know what Danny meant. He turned away quickly and stared at the guests, who had gathered together for safety, like sheep.

Now it was Mac and Danny who looked out of place, in their immaculate tuxedos.

Adam couldn't help but give a little smile.

Milling around the table in that awkward, stilted fashion that defines the beginning of any party formed entirely of strangers, was a truly eclectic mix of people, dressed in a wide range of fancy clothes that were anything but the latest fashion.

"Not what you expected?" said a wry voice in his ear.

He jumped.

She had crept up behind them; circling round the room like a prowling cat until she reached their position undetected. The three men stared at her in surprise. She seemed unconcerned by their expressions - or by anything else, for that matter. A half-smile hovered on her lips. Her eyes were sharp and clever.

"Arabella Kazinsky," she said, as she stuck out her hand like a man.

Mac took it, tilting his head politely. The handshake was firm, and she was the last one to let go.

"Mac Taylor," he responded. "Danny Messer. Adam Ross."

"Two guests. Well, that evens it out. I didn't bring anyone. Couldn't be bothered."

_Or maybe you had no friend to ask,_ Adam thought with sudden clarity, catching the slight edge of self-deceit beneath her casual words.

"Not my guests," Mac explained. He pointed to Adam. Her green eyes switched direction and she nodded.

"I knew that," she said. Her focus was intense, as she took in his over-long suit and his twitchy manner. "I read your paper."

"You did?" he gasped.

"Of course. I read them all. Know your enemy." She laughed; an odd sound, like a hiccup. "Just kidding, of course."

"Um - of course." Adam returned her stare, full of frank amazement at her bold and fearless manner. Her outfit seemed to be a continuation of her character and, as such, it suited her even though it was quite outrageous. From neck to toe, she was draped in a long and shapeless purple dress that was almost a kaftan, with its orange tie-dye detail and its random sprinkling of beads around the neck. Hanging loosely in the crooks of her arms, she wore a lilac shawl with shimmering tassels. Her hair, stuck halfway in the transition from black to grey, was rolled up and pinned to the top of her head with what looked remarkably like a pair of chopsticks, straight from a Chinese restaurant. Her make up was... well, the word that sprang to Adam's mind was 'heavy'. As though she didn't really know how to apply it, and nor did she care. To complete the look, Arabella had slung an enormous lumpy bag over her shoulder.

She caught the direction of his eyes and glanced downwards.

"Ha. My 'Port-all'. Never go anywhere without it," she said. "I'm a practical woman. Why abandon the things you need because fashion dictates that a purse no bigger than a postage stamp is the thing to be seen with this year? I ask you, really - what's the point of that?"

Recalling his own beloved messenger bag, Adam was rather inclined to agree with her - yet he stayed quiet, stunned by the force of her presence.

"You said you read the other papers?" Danny intervened, trying to help his friend by hiding his silence. "Does that mean you know these guys?"

Arabella nodded, catching his meaning at once. "And you don't," she nodded. "Let me help you."

Trying not to look as though they were staring, the three men followed the line of her finger. She pointed to the individuals around the table, who were still performing their awkward social dance as the music played on.

"Maya Jordan," she began, selecting the one who was nearest to them. "Infant prodigy. Student at M.I.T."

The young woman was hovering near the dips, focussing on the food as a means of avoiding unnecessary conversation. Her black hair was a mass of curls, and she wore a deep red trouser suit that was probably the brightest thing in the room, next to Arabella's outfit. If she was yin, then her friend - a pale ghost hovering beside her, with a shifting mass of long blond hair and a terrified expression on her face - was definitely yang.

Arabella continued.

"Jeremy Carter. Genius. That's his word, not mine," she added with a heavy vein of sarcasm in her voice. "Styles himself something of an inventor. Useless items that nobody in their right mind would ever want."

The victim of this tirade was a wiry man, fizzing with energy, who moved around the table snatching morsels from every dish and piling them onto his plate as though food would soon be going out of fashion and he was determined to try every last thing before it did. He was dressed in a kilt, of all things; full Scottish dress that, secretly, Adam rather admired. It was different, but smart. Completing the look, Carter's shaggy brown hair was pulled back at the nape of his neck in a rough ponytail that was held by a strand of leather cord. There were silver studs all down the side of one ear, like a row of nails. His grin was tiger-fierce.

Meanwhile, the identity of his guest (if, indeed, he had brought one) was a mystery, as Jeremy stalked the table by himself, and spoke to no one.

"Who's that?" whispered Danny, nodding his head in the direction of an older man in an ill-fitting tweed jacket. He had a proud face, with a long crease that split his forehead in a perpetual frown, all the way down to his beak-like nose. Behind him, a slight young figure hovered anxiously.

_Smithers and Mr. Burns, _Adam christened them secretly, struck by their resemblance to the 'Simpsons' cartoon duo.

Arabella smiled in amusement. "You mean the Odd Couple? Harrison Drew and his faithful shadow?"

Danny nodded. "What's with that? The poor kid looks like a puppy waiting for scraps."

"He is, in a sense. I've seen them around. That's Drew's secretary, Alfie Jakes. He keeps a notebook in his pocket, ready to capture every sparkling gem of wisdom that falls from his master's lips. Drew - or should I say, Jakes - is writing a book. Another one. They've written three already. Dry as dust, but clever if you like that sort of thing. Drew fashions himself an archaeologist." She snorted. "Not sure when he last went on a dig..."

Her acid tongue was starting to sting. Adam bit his lip as she moved on to her next target. Clearly, she was tiring too, as her next description was far more succinct. "Paul Greer. Math whizz. Far too clever to mix with anyone whose IQ doesn't match his own. Spends all day solving pointless problems and never looks past the end of his nose if he can help it. What he's doing here, I can't imagine. Don't know his friend." The two young men in her line of sight were almost identical, with their stereotypical long hair and bad shirts. Their suits were cheap and slightly faded. Adam sympathised.

The last three guests were women. By process of elimination, that meant that one of them ought to be Carter's date. The tall one, probably, who looked like some kind of hired escort, complete with brassy hair and far too many rhinestones on her dress to constitute good taste. She stood to the side in a haze of boredom, swilling champagne in a long-stemmed glass. Nearby stood a mother and daughter, dressed with elegant simplicity in matching outfits, the mother fussing over her child like a brooding hen, as she straightened her peach skirt and smoothed her long black hair.

The girl looked to be in her thirties, and her expression was downcast, as though she were wishing with all her heart to be anywhere but there.

"Poor thing," Adam murmured.

Arabella nodded. "Don't know them," she admitted. "Only by name. Grace Adachi and her daughter, Anna. Poor thing indeed."

Irked for a reason that he couldn't quite put his finger on, Adam turned to face the outspoken woman. "And what do you know about me?" he demanded, challenging her humorous smirk.

She shook her head. Her features softened, and this time the smile was far more genuine.

"Nothing," she told him. "Nothing but good, that is. Take no notice of me, Adam Ross. I'm a sharp-tongued creature with far too many thoughts in my head. But one thing I'll say in my defense. I know a fool when I see one. And I know a good man, too." She eyed them all speculatively. "One. Two. Three..."

"Thank you - I think," Danny cut in. Arabella laughed.

"Oh yes, it's a compliment," she said. With a shrug, she nodded towards the table. "I'm starving. How about you? Shall we feast on Thorne's dime? Stuff ourselves with his generosity?"

Adam sighed, smoothing his jacket down absently.

Danny and Mac, on the other hand, seemed quite willing. And he wasn't about to be left by himself. What if he found the driest thing in the banquet and stuck with that? Surely then his tuxedo would be safe...?

Almost as though it were trying to make its own voice heard, Adam's stomach growled. Already he could feel his resolve beginning to weaken.

They set off together across the parquet floor. Before they could reach the rest of the group, however, three strange things occurred, one after the other.

The pianist broke off in the middle of a phrase.

The escort dropped her glass.

And the lights went out, plunging them all into darkness.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: I know! Early again. But I've had so many encouraging reviews that I simply couldn't help myself. As I can't reply to the guest ones personally, I'll just say a big 'thank you' here and now! And I'm glad that you're enjoying it.**

**Thanks yet again to 1917farmgirl and Lily Moonlight for keeping me on track and helping to make this story the best that it can be (I hope!).**

**The next update will be Saturday. At the latest. LOL...**


	6. Chapter 6

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"There was a Door to which I found no Key:**_

_**There was a Veil past which I could not see."**_

_**(Omar Khayyam)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Six**

Alone in Rudy Nash's bedroom, Stella worked methodically, starting at the door and moving inwards as she gathered each new piece of evidence. Photographs of the scene, including the intricate mural. Samples of blood and other tell-tale bodily fluids. The bedding itself, which she bagged up carefully so that it was ready to go. All the while, however, her eyes were drawn to the chest beside the futon; Nash's secret domain. For her final task, she resolved to search it more thoroughly and document the search. If there was a way for evidence to reach beyond the veil of death and reveal something hidden about this man, then that evidence would be in the chest. She was sure of it.

Kneeling down on the plush grey carpet, Stella spread out a plastic sheet and began to remove items from the jumble, laying them down in order to create a visual catalogue of her findings. She grouped them according to type. Clothing - the largest pile. Far too many t-shirts for her taste, but at least Rudy's style was consistent. It certainly spoke to his character; the stereotypical geek. Beneath the clothing, she found a selection of far more curious articles. A book of Japanese poetry. A stuffed dog, limp and threadbare, full of memories that would now be lost for ever. Lifting it out, Stella caught a faint scent of aftershave and smiled. A child's toy, still loved by the man.

Reaching further down, she felt her fingers connect with a hard object, smooth like the chest itself, but too high up to be the base. A box within a box. Intrigued, she used both hands to lift it out and set it on the sheet in front of her.

Clearly a valuable antique, the box was lacquered and inlaid on all sides with ivory squares in an alternating pattern, like a chessboard. Something heavy lay inside it. Stella picked it up once more and moved it around, bending her ear to catch the sound of an object sliding backwards and forwards. A single object. A book, perhaps? She stared at the box with a frown. Locked - but no key. And no keyhole, for that matter. How did it open?

Peering around the bedroom door, Sheldon laughed to see the look on her face.

"Frustrated?" he asked her.

"Very," she replied. "Have you ever seen anything like this before?"

He walked over to join her, crouching down as he took the box in his own gloved hands.

"Maybe..." he said, in a hesitant manner, shaking it slowly, just as she had done. "It could be some kind of puzzle box. Each one has a secret way of opening. Some are straightforward - just a case of finding the right section to press - but others are fiendishly difficult. More than a thousand sliding movements to release the catch or reveal the compartment."

"Thanks for the reassurance," she smiled. Sheldon handed the box back.

"What could be inside, do you suppose?"

"I'm hoping a diary," Stella confessed. "Whatever it is, if he's locked it up this well, it must be important. I suppose I could smash it open - but I don't want to damage the contents. Or spoil the box, for that matter. It's a work of art, and I think it might be very old. For one thing, this is real ivory. I'll take it back to the lab."

"You love a good challenge," he nodded.

"So does Adam." Stella grinned. "Maybe I'll pass it along to him."

"I thought he got off early today? Some kind of party with his friends?"

Stella's face was innocent as she bagged up the puzzle box. "Yes - but he'll be back at work tomorrow..."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You're kidding me, right?"

Don glared up at the man-mountain guarding the doorway.

"No, sir," boomed the giant, looking nervous. Beside him, his equally large partner squared off against the flashing eyes of Jessica Angell. She lifted her arm and waved her badge in his face.

"Know what this is?" she demanded. "An all-access pass."

"Mr. Thorne said no-one." Squeaky-Voice shifted unhappily. "Not without an invitation."

"Okay. Then where do we get one of those?" A fair request, as far as Don was concerned, with none of his usual sarcasm. _See,_ he thought, smiling. _I can be polite. Good manners cost nothing..._

Sadly, right now, they were also _worth_ nothing.

"It's too late." Squeaky-Voice appeared to be the spokesman. "All the guests are inside. We're meant to be inside as well." He shifted in his enormous shoes and glanced at the door behind him.

The very large, very _closed_ door.

And what was with the shield-thing? A crown, for pity's sake? Did this Marcus Thorne think he was some kind of royalty?

Don's eyes narrowed.

"Look," he said, fighting hard to maintain his authority. "I'm not totally insensitive, okay? I get it. Privacy means a lot to Mr. Thorne. But one of his employees has been murdered. Don't you think he'd want to co-operate with our investigation? Stands to reason. So why don't you take us to your boss?" Just in time, he managed to stop himself saying 'leader'. "And then maybe we can ask him ourselves."

The guards exchanged a thoughtful look. Finally, they bowed their heads. Squeaky-Voice spoke into a hidden microphone in his cuff, which led to an ominous barrage of thumps and rattles within the heavy steel framework. Pushing the two doors open at last, the giants barged through, one after the other. Don and Jess prepared to follow them. But the doors were deceptive. They sprang shut behind the men with brutal force, like a giant mousetrap. Don leapt backwards just in time to avoid being smacked in the face. He frowned as he heard the set of heavy internal bolts slide back into position.

"Oh," he said mournfully.

Jess said nothing but her expression spoke volumes.

Wondering how to deal with this slight flaw in his plan, Don craned his neck and studied the towering blemish that was Thorne's new stronghold, right here in the middle of Manhattan.

From far up amongst the clouds, there came a rumble.

"Thunder?" Jess breathed. The air was certainly warm enough; sticky and humid, and full of foreboding.

"I... no..."

His blue eyes grew wide.

"Jess, look!"

Like a rolling shadow, darkness moved towards them. Tumbling down the side of the building, a mechanical wave of countless thin steel shutters was falling rapidly into place. The noise was deafening. All around them, people began to stir uneasily, pointing and murmuring in dismay. Some even covered their ears.

What was going on?

The final row of shutters hit the ground with an ominous clang and the building fell silent.

Smooth glass had been wrapped in smooth steel, without a single chink in the armour. Even the doors were hidden.

_That can't be good..._

Don stared at Jess. She was equally bewildered.

"Well," she said. "That's final. Unless you've got a giant can-opener in the trunk of your car, we're not getting in..."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

High up on the top floor, the noise was magnified a hundred times; a drum roll of doom that swelled up inside Adam's head until he thought that his skull would burst open. At the same time, what was shadow now became so black that he could not even see his hand before his face, or the two men who stood beside him.

The woman who had dropped her glass was sobbing by now. "I'm sorry," she kept repeating. "I'm sorry... It's just... I had such a terrible feeling. I don't know what happened. I'm sorry..."

Her plaintive words were swallowed by the uproar from the other guests, which grew more and more frantic as the darkness fuelled their fears. Cries of horror filled the air, mingled with a few choice obscenities. Most of these came from Arabella Kazinsky. Her dry voice was unmistakable.

"Mac?" Adam whispered. "What should we do?"

"Stay calm," was the reassuring answer. "Stick together."

A cool hand squeezed Adam's wrist, making him jump. To his great surprise, it was Danny. The rough edge of the tape against his skin was a dead giveaway. Adam's first thought was to pull away but, in the darkness, that would be a crazy thing to do. Besides, it was oddly reassuring - the touch of another human being, coupled with the firm tones of his boss. No need to fear. His friends were with him.

"What _was _that?" someone cried out.

"Are we under attack?"

"Has there been an explosion?"

At the same time, a small flame popped up, lighting Jeremy Carter's face from the side and making him look quite alarming, as though his features had begun to melt away into the shadows...

Adam shook his head and banished the image quickly.

_How stupid I am,_ he thought, with a sudden flash of inspiration. With his free hand, he felt for his inside pocket and pulled out his cell phone. Reception was non-existent - but that wasn't Adam's concern right now. Flicking through the apps, he found the one that he wanted.

His phone turned into a glowing brick of light.

Now he could see the puzzled look on Danny's face beside him.

"Flashlight app," he murmured, with a wobbly grin.

All around him, the rest of the guests began to make their own light too. Cell phones, lighters - even a tiny key-ring flashlight in the shaking hands of Maya Jordan. The effect would have been rather pretty, if the situation wasn't so alarming.

Sensing the need for some kind of leadership, Mac stepped forward into the wavering circle. Even as he opened his mouth to speak, however, another voice rang out; precise and cheery, like a public announcement.

"Contestants. Welcome to Thorne Tower. Please note that the building is completely secure. Time to proceed with this evening's 'entertainment'... "

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing the story so far!**

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Next update will be on Monday at the latest.**


	7. Chapter 7

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"A trap is only a trap if you don't know about it. If you know about it, it's a challenge." (China Miéville)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Seven**

Mac tried to pinpoint the source of the message.

Not inside the room. That much was certain. He could detect no faint doubling of words to suggest that one of the others was using a microphone. In fact, he was beginning to think that the speaker was not even human. There was a definite 'wrongness' to the elegant flow of words. A man would be more random in his breaths and his inflexions. This voice was artificial.

Above his head, an almost imperceptible hum sent a prickle ghosting down his neck. It was also the final clue that he needed. Reaching out, he turned Adam's hand and sent the beam from the phone swinging up towards the ceiling. Yes, there it was. A tiny, unremarkable device that dangled from the high tiles on a slender cable.

"See it?" he breathed.

"I do," Adam nodded. Danny craned his neck and added his own confirmation.

"Contestants. By your words, you have been chosen," the voice continued smoothly, offering false congratulations. Chosen. Chosen for what? And by whom? Mac frowned. Beside him, Danny shifted nervously. "Deep inside the tower, Marcus Thorne is waiting to greet you. This is your final challenge."

"Hmph. I don't like the sound of that," Arabella Kazinsky snorted, nudging Adam from behind. "Do you?"

The beam shook slightly.

"Um... no. I guess not..."

Mac could hear the underlying note of panic that Adam was trying so hard to disguise and he felt a twinge of pity.

A hush fell over the room, as the voice continued, like some kind of eerie game show host.

"Half a million dollars will be gifted to the first contestant, or group of contestants who can find their way to Thorne's apartment at the heart of the building. Work together, or work alone. The choice is yours."

"And what's the catch?" Danny hissed, echoing Mac's own feeling of unease. Around the table, there was a ripple of shock at the amount on offer. "Adam," he continued urgently, "tell me you read the small print before you entered this competition of yours..."

"I... No. I mean... Danny, look, there wasn't any. At least, I don't think so..."

"No," Arabella confirmed, leaping to his defense. "He's right. And I should know. I _never_ neglect the small print. Something I learned at a very early age. Don't ask me how - I'm not telling."

Adam flashed her a look of gratitude. His face was pale in the torchlight. Meanwhile, Danny's silence showed Mac that he had relented.

Around them, the atmosphere in the room was shifting. Slowly, and without any hint of subtlety, people were starting to spread out, eyeing each other warily as they moved away. No longer were they sheep, who huddled together for safety. Now there was distrust, and sharp suspicion.

Money had turned them into wolves.

Mac felt a deep sense of foreboding.

The voice spoke again, and they listened with rapt attention.

"By your words, you have been chosen," it repeated. "The honour is yours. Thorne Tower boasts a unique security system. Be warned - the traps are complex and varied. But please accept our promise. This is a test of skill. There is no danger. For the purpose of this challenge, safety protocols have been engaged. Your health is in our hands."

"Oh, well - that's okay then," Danny mumbled. "I feel better.." Mac nudged him sharply. Now was not the time for sarcasm. Now was the time to gather every scrap of information. Even the most significant phrase could be vital.

"Success will end the lockdown for everyone. Failure will keep you all here until dawn, when the Tower is set to release you."

"Release us?" Harrison Drew's cultured tone was full of fury. "We're prisoners, then?"

"With a golden key on offer." This time, the speaker was a woman; mature and rational. Mac couldn't be sure who it was. She spoke from the darkness, but her words were bold and people listened. A murmur of assent began to grow around her, spreading outwards.

"Good luck," the voice said brightly. It paused, as though it had been programmed to expect some kind of response - yet none came. The low hum continued above their heads for a moment or two.

And then it was gone.

The pause was terrible. Nobody wished to be the first to react. The first to choose a path.

"Hang this," Arabella growled at last. "Who says we have to play? No one asked for this - did they? Don't know about you guys, but I came here for a party, not some rich man's crazy experiment."

Mac felt a surge of admiration for the forthright woman. Dropping her bag to the floor with a satisfying thud, she reached out her hand in a silent request. Adam passed her the phone. Full of wicked humour, she held it level with her chest and aimed it upwards, lighting her face from below. "I'm not a pawn in anyone's game," she told them all; a disembodied spirit with a challenging scowl on its face. "And I'm staying right here until dawn. In the nice safe room, with the table full of food. Who's with me?"

Jeremy Carter waved his lighter, making the tiny flame dance. "Great speech," he said in a lazy drawl. "Strength of character, and all that - very admirable. But come on, Bella. Half a million dollars? Can you really turn that down? Game on, I say, and may the best player win..."

The flame went out, and Jeremy vanished from sight.

The escort gave an urgent cry, confirming Mac's supposition that she was Jeremy's 'date'. Clacking her heels across the parquet floor, she scrambled to find him in the darkness.

Mac took the phone from Arabella. A look of understanding passed between them as the beam of light changed hands. _Your turn,_ she seemed to say.

Pulling his badge out, he held it up for all to see.

"My name is Detective Mac Taylor, of the NYPD," he began.

Rather than instilling a sense of hope, this introduction was met with suspicion and even, in some cases, rudeness. "Detective," a low voice muttered, from the general direction of the math 'twins'. "Does he think that puts him above us?"

"Every man for himself, that's what I say," Harrison Drew proclaimed. "And every woman too, of course," he added grudgingly.

Mac could feel Arabella Kazinsky bristling beside him. She opened her mouth - but Danny was quicker.

"You want good odds?" he demanded. "Stick together. Work as a team."

"You want good odds?" the first voice whined in childish imitation. "Check the numbers. Half a million. Fourteen people. Thirty five thousand dollars and change. Half a million. One person. Need I go on...?"

"You're a fine human being, you know that?" Danny growled, stepping forwards. Mac laid a restraining hand on his arm and tried again.

"We don't know what's ahead of us," he told the group firmly, ignoring the uneasy rumblings all around him.

"What good are you, then?" the childish voice said sulkily. Nearby, someone shushed him. Mac took that as a good sign.

"This situation is ridiculous. But we seem to be stuck with it - literally - and we need to figure out the best thing to do."

"Perhaps..." Adam faltered, as the eyes of the room swivelled quickly towards him.

Danny nudged him. "Perhaps...?" he repeated.

Mac listened with interest, hoping that the rest of the group would do the same.

Adam edged into the beam of light which Mac pointed his way.

"It's just... I was wondering what would happen if we _all_ stayed here. You know, refused to play the game." In the face of almost overwhelming laughter, Adam persisted bravely, earning a look of surprise from his boss and a nod of respect from Arabella. "That way, no one takes the money, right? And we all go home safe and sound. Isn't that the fairest thing to do?"

"You afraid, little man?" sneered Jeremy Carter's voice from somewhere in the shadows near the elevator shaft.

"Of course I am," Adam said. "Aren't you? We all are."

"I'm not." Maya Jordan spoke up clearly; the first time that anyone had heard her voice. "No danger. That's what the man said. It's just an adventure, like the dungeon level in a video game."

"And I left my magic sword at home..." Danny muttered under his breath. Adam snorted.

"Maybe it is," Mac told her gently. "But remember, you can't reset this game if you go wrong."

She stared at him with troubled eyes. _Good,_ he thought. At least one person wasn't thinking solely of the money. For Maya, the appeal seemed to lie in the challenge itself. An intellectual exercise that called to her - something he understood all too well.

Mac opened his mouth to continue but, sadly, the time for discussion (friendly or otherwise) seemed to be over. All around him, people were drifting away, either singly or in pairs. Thanks to Jeremy Carter, the elevator shaft seemed to be the main focus of their attention, drawing them closer like moths to a flame. Mac knew that the battle was lost.

"You tried, boss," Adam said quietly.

"As did you," he returned. "It was a good idea, Adam. A peaceful solution. Nobody wins - that's thinking outside the box."

"And how about you?" Arabella stared at the three men with interest. "You going to try the challenge after all, or stay here and keep me company?"

Mac turned to Danny, who shrugged. "I don't mind. I'll play it either way. Besides, this is Adam's party. We're the guests, here. He's the contestant - apparently. He should choose."

Adam's eyes grew round with shock. Clearly, he didn't know whether to be proud or horrified at the dubious honour Danny had just bestowed upon him. Resisting the urge to laugh, Mac added his own affirmation . "You're right. Make your choice, Adam. We'll do whatever you say."

"You _will_?"

"We will," Danny grinned. "No pressure..."

Adam looked from one to the other. "Okay..." he muttered slowly, thinking aloud. "Well - I still kinda like my first plan. But if everyone else is going to try and win this thing, that's pretty much a bust, so... I guess it wouldn't hurt to do the same? Not for the money," he added, hastily. "It's just that... if someone can find Thorne quickly, then it's over, right? The building lets us go and we're home sweet home. Besides..." He flushed in the torchlight.

"You want to see if you can do it," was Mac's simple observation.

"Yes." Adam stared at his boss. "Is that okay...?"

"Buddy, we're not going to think any less of you because you want to win some crazy game before the next guy does." Danny blundered in before Mac could speak, but the meaning behind his words struck an immediate chord. "Especially when the 'next guy' is a jerk. You want to do this, we'll help you. Besides, it might be fun. Better than sitting here whistling in the dark... No offense," he added quickly.

Arabella nodded.

"None taken."

Lifting her bag from the floor, she held it out to Adam. He took it slowly, gazing at her with a puzzled expression.

"If you're going on a quest, you'll need supplies." She shrugged. "It's full of junk, and most of that will probably be useless, but you never know what you need until you need it. 'For want of a nail', and all that nonsense... Right? You can give it back to me at dawn. Or sooner, if you get lucky."

The gesture was casually made, but Mac sensed the warmth behind it. "Thank you," he told her, while Adam raised his eyebrows and tried not to look dismayed at the thought of lugging Arabella's lumpy sack around with him. "What will you do here, all alone?" he asked.

Before she could answer, Danny gave a short gasp. "Hey!"

They spun round, startled.

"Where's the guy?" he hissed. "The piano man. She shouldn't _be_ alone. He should be right here with us. But I haven't seen him since the lights went out - have you?"

Trying not to be too obvious about his action, Mac sent the beam of light from Adam's phone chasing all around the room. He counted under his breath as he picked out each contestant and their guest. Then he checked the corners, and even the space beneath the heavily-laden table of food.

Danny was right.

The fussy little pianist had gone.

But the elevator had not yet returned to their floor since Farraday left - so where did he go?

"There's another way out," Adam murmured.

Mac nodded. Deep down, he felt an unexpected surge of satisfaction. "Yes, there is. And we're going to find it..."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: The game is afoot!**

**Thank you, as always, to everyone who is reading this story, especially those who have left reviews. It's so good to hear from you, and to find out what you are thinking so far :D **

**Thanks to 1917farmgirl and Lily Moonlight, for their valuable advice.**

**Next update will be on Tuesday.**


	8. Chapter 8

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"Be an opener of doors." (Ralph Waldo Emerson)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Eight**

It was fascinating, Lindsay noted, just how many people were casually dropping by to speak with Stella since she had started to work on the puzzle box half an hour ago. Its lure was remarkable. Stella herself had safely logged all of the other evidence as soon as she arrived back at the lab, but couldn't resist holding onto this particular item, even though her shift had officially ended. There was a familiar gleam in her eye.

_You're hooked already,_ Lindsay thought. She knew her friend.

She also knew herself.

Home was beckoning, but mystery's pull was greater. As yet another lab tech left the room, his spurious question answered, his gaze still straying to the artefact resting so innocently on the table, Lindsay abandoned her weakening resolve.

"Could I...?" she ventured hopefully, taking a pair of gloves from the nearest box. No need to finish the sentence. The look on her face was enough, she had no doubt.

"Of course. You know what they say. Two heads are better than one." With a generous smile, Stella picked up the puzzle and passed it across to Lindsay. As she did so, they both heard the hidden object shift inside. "The torment of Tantalus," she groaned.

"So near and yet so far," Lindsay nodded. "We can do this, Stella. What have you tried?"

Tucking a stray curl behind one ear in a habitual gesture, Stella began to list her findings.

"The ivory pieces are fixed, as far as I can tell. If there are any sliding panels, they must be made of wood. But their seams are completely invisible. I started by examining everything in a logical order..." Here she looked a little sheepish. "But now I've just resorted to pushing and prodding randomly in the hope of unlocking the first move. Not very scientific, I'm afraid."

"Hey - luck has its place in any investigation." Lindsay grinned. Holding the box up to her nose, she inhaled carefully. "Smells nice," she admitted. "Like... spices?"

"Aftershave. Or body spray. I found it in a chest full of clothes. The scent was on those too."

Lindsay lowered the puzzle once more and propped it against her chest. With both thumbs, she started pressing panels, two at a time. Wood and wood. Wood and ivory. Double ivory. All at once, a sharp click made her jump. She almost dropped the box in her astonishment.

"No way!" Stella gasped.

"Beginner's luck?" she offered, trying to hide her delight.

Somehow, her actions had released a spring within the puzzle box that loosened it slightly. Seams that were tight now became far more easy to see - and hopefully, to manipulate. "Well, it's a start." Stella folded her arms. "I really ought to go home..." she added.

The two women glanced at each other.

"Half an hour more?" Lindsay suggested brightly.

Stella nodded with relief.

At that moment, Don Flack stuck his head around the doorway. For the second time in the space of two minutes, Lindsay jumped. The man was spending way too much time around her soft-footed boss, who was practically a ninja when it came to sneaking up on people.

"Puzzle?" Don said. "Guess what? I got one too. Mac still around..?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As Danny could have told them if the building hadn't cut off all reception, Mac had a mystery of his own to solve that was larger and far more troubling than an antique box.

In order to preserve the battery on Adam's phone and save its valuable app for emergencies, they had turned the whole thing off for now. Instead, Danny had offered the paler glow from his own cell as an alternative source of light. In their search for a second exit from the room, they chose the far wall as a logical place to start. The only other solution was a trapdoor in the floor - which seemed unlikely.

_Or maybe not,_ Danny thought with a sigh. Who knew what clichés were in store for them all - assuming that they managed to make it out of this room in the first place?

Gloom and sarcasm were unproductive, so he shrugged them off quickly and led the way to the back of the room. Arabella followed the three men, full of curiosity and clearly wanting to help as much as she could at this early stage. No one else paid any attention to their movements, dismissing them as weak and unimportant.

"Hey - Danny?" Adam whispered. "Sorry, okay?"

"For what?"

"Well - for this, of course." The younger man sounded surprised.

"Why? You set this up? Your name Thorne? You some kind of game-playing megalomaniac?" The last phrase had a nice ring to it. Danny gave a momentary grin as it echoed in his head.

"No, but..."

"Adam." He paused and rounded on his friend. "I crashed this party. Me. And I'm glad I did."

"You are?" Adam's voice rose uncertainly on the second word.

"Of course. You, me an' Mac - we're a team, all right? You wanna do this thing alone?"

"No way." The reply was heartfelt and immediate.

"I didn't think so. Besides - two smart detectives and a genius lab rat? I'd say our odds of winning this are pretty good. Wouldn't you?"

Maybe it was the word 'genius' that threw Adam into confusion. More likely, it was Mac's frown, as he waited for them by the wall with a none-too-patient air. Either way, Danny could tell that the conversation was over. Hopefully, he had made his point. They needed to stay sharp on this one, he could tell.

Reaching the banner, they discovered that they were just about level with Marcus Thorne's jutting chin. The rest of his glare was lost in the shadows above them - _thank goodness, _Danny thought.

Mac lifted one side of the heavy cloth away from the wall and peered behind it; gesturing for Danny to lend him some light as he did so. "Eureka," he murmured.

"A door?" Adam whispered.

"That was easy," Arabella said wryly.

"Too easy." Danny's shoulder blades were twitching, as a wave of doubt swept over him. What if it was... "Booby-trapped?" he blurted out.

Too late. Mac's hand was already on the doorknob. To Danny's great relief, there was no sizzle of electricity, or puff of smoke. His boss did not disintegrate like a cartoon figure who has fallen prey to his own cunning trap.

_This is going to be a stressful night, _he realised, _if every obstacle in our path makes me feel that nervous..._

Arabella pulled the banner out further, and they all slipped behind it; three bold adventurers in a row. "Good luck," she hissed, and let it drop, just as Mac turned the knob and gave the door a push.

It swung open with ridiculous ease.

"Here goes nothing," Danny muttered, as they stepped through, one after the other, into the gloom beyond...

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: More on Thursday! Thank you, as always, for the reviews (and your suspicions, lol!)**


	9. Chapter 9

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"And so I am become a Knight of the Kingdom of Dreams and Shadows." (Mark Twain)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Nine**

The door closed behind them with a gentle thump, but they barely noticed. They were too busy staring at the new world into which they had ventured; a world of grey walls and low ceilings that were far too close for comfort. Adam breathed in and wrapped his arms around his body, feeling quite unnerved.

Studying the wall directly beside him, he reached up to finger the thin strip of pale blue light that ran along it, level with his head.

"Guess we won't be needing this, then," Danny said, closing his cell phone and sticking it back in his pocket.

"So strange..." Adam murmured. The strip was made up of thousands of tiny glowing dots, that brightened further when his hand moved in to touch them. He jerked back, startled. "Are they... sensors?"

"Perhaps we're being watched," Mac said ominously.

An unpleasant thought. Still... _I chose this path,_ Adam told himself. _Time to get on with it._ He shouldered Arabella's lumpy bag and nodded to his boss. "I'm guessing... that way?" It was a feeble joke, given that the only other way was back through the door. But at least he had managed to muster up some humour. In spite of Danny's reassurances, Adam still felt responsible for placing them all in this situation. _Me and my pride,_ he thought crossly. Why, oh why had he ever entered that stupid online competition? He, of all people, ought to know better than to trust anything on the internet. No matter how legitimate it seemed to be.

They set off, not in single file but side by side, bolstered by each other's company. It was a tight squeeze, but nobody wanted to fall back and walk on their own. Adam felt the slap, slap, slap of the Port-all against his leg and wondered what on earth was inside it. No time to stop and look now, though. Mac had set the pace, and it was a quick one. Adam found himself hurrying to keep up. _Bang_ went the bag, and he knew that, if he survived this night, he was going to have the most enormous bruise upon his thigh.

He hoped that was the worst of it.

His right hand clenched around the bag strap and his jaw grew tight. A sheen of sweat broke out across his forehead.

Memories clawed at him.

_Don't go there..._

"Think there's an end to this corridor?" he said, far too brightly.

Mac gave him a curious, sideways look.

"There's always an end."

"Very deep, sensei. Very cryptic," Danny chuckled.

_How does he do that?_ Adam wondered, peering around Mac. _Keep his head when everything around him is falling to pieces?_ Sometimes he envied Danny so much.

Still, his lightness of touch was certainly a comfort. Almost against his will, Adam's spirits began to rise.

Unlike the floor, which had started to dip; a gentle slope that urged them onward.

Above their heads, the ceiling followed its slow descent.

They lapsed into silence. Nobody spoke of their fear. To Adam, it felt as though they were being herded, like beasts in a run. But where were they going?

Eventually, as the floor levelled out once more, they came to a bend in the corridor. Simple, and yet so disturbing. Adam exchanged a worried glance with Danny. Mac's eyes were narrow and his body was tense.

"It's a bend," Danny said, at last. "We go round this, there'll probably just be more of the same. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, sure," Adam agreed, with false bravado. Desperate to get the moment over with, he leapt ahead of them and around the corner. His cry of dismay was their first clue that Danny's prediction was utterly wrong.

As they hurried to join him, he pointed at the obstacle in their way.

"That can't be good," he groaned.

"A dead end?" Mac sounded surprised.

"So we'll have to go back and start again." The realisation was disheartening. "We must have gone wrong already..."

"No, wait." With a frown, Danny interrupted. "What about the pianist? Remember? The guy we've been following all this time? He must have gotten through here. Either that, or there's another way out hidden somewhere and we need to find it."

Sometimes, Adam thought, logic was such a comfort. Irrefutable facts that kept you from despair and sent you off in the right direction. His brain caught hold of Danny's thought and he stared at the panel with a sudden, deep suspicion.

It stood before them, smug and grey, as though it were waiting. But waiting for what?

"Okay. So there's no strip of light. Just a weird reflection." Adam stepped closer, followed by Mac. "Maybe it's not a proper wall?"

They reached out to touch it, while Danny hovered behind them, giving them room. At this point, the corridor felt tighter than ever. It was claustrophobic; as though the building were trying to swallow them whole. The thought made Adam shudder, but he pushed it aside with a valiant effort and concentrated on the puzzle instead.

Laying careful fingertips on the surface, he gasped in surprise. "It's cold," he said. "Like glass."

"With a perfect mirror-image of a wall printed on it like an old-fashioned photographic plate." Mac nodded. Fascination gleamed in his eyes. "And look here." He pointed. "Smudges."

Danny leaned between the two men and stared closely. "Fingerprints?" he suggested.

"That would be my guess. They're tilted sideways, here at the edge, as though someone tried to..."

"...Slide the panel across!" Adam finished with relief. "Then it's not a dead end after all."

"It's a door." Danny grinned. He lifted his hand for a high-five - his injured hand. Spotting the tape around his fingers, he lowered it sheepishly and swapped it for the other one. Adam completed the gesture, smiling broadly and ignoring Danny's blunder.

"Aren't we celebrating a little early?" Mac said, feigning disapproval. A tell-tale smirk hovered at the corner of his mouth. It fell away, however, when he set his own hand to the panel and tried to move it. Nothing happened. His words had been prophetic after all. Adding his other palm, he tried to create some kind of friction between his skin and the glass, but to no avail. Whoever closed this panel had done so far too firmly.

Adam studied the edges; top, bottom and sides. The fit was impossibly snug. Closing his eyes, he stepped back against the nearby wall and pondered the problem. At the same time, Danny moved forwards, adding his own strength to that of his boss. Adam could hear them grunting as they slipped and strained. Their fingers squeaked on the stubborn glass, like rubber soles on a polished floor.

Like rubber...

Adam's eyes popped open and he beamed.

Fired by the warmth of his idea, he dropped the bag and waved his arms at the two men. "Wait. Stand back," he told them. "I think I've got it..."

Ignoring their startled expressions, he lay down on his back and raised his feet to the panel, setting them firmly against the glass. The soles of his sneakers made a satisfying noise as he shifted into a comfortable position.

"You gotta be kidding me," Danny said softly.

Mac just laughed.

"Remember this," Adam quipped, from the floor, "when you write my next evaluation..."

"I'll remember it the next time you try to slip an expensive technical item past my budget," Mac countered. "Clearly, you can manage on a shoestring..."

"Or a shoe." Danny chuckled. "You do this, buddy, and I'll think twice before I mock your fashion sense. I promise."

"That's just great," Adam groaned, peering up at the two comedians above him. "No more talk, okay? I'm concentrating."

Laying his palms face down on the floor beside his body for support, he pushed in two directions - downwards with his shoulders and his upper back. Sideways with his legs. He made no noise, but the rigid set of his neck and the redness in his face spoke volumes.

With a creak, and a gentle shudder, the glass began to move.

Adam began to mimic a walking motion, sending the whole thing sliding neatly into the opposite wall, where it disappeared completely.

The way ahead was clear. Another corridor, just like the first one.

"I don't believe it," Danny gasped. No need for jokes now. To Adam's delight, he sounded truly impressed. "Good thinking, buddy."

"Well done," Mac agreed.

Pushing himself up from the floor in a single, rolling move that should have been elegant but turned out to be something of a scramble, Adam dashed the sweat from his forehead and gave a shy smile of triumph, followed by his trademark cry. "Whaddup...?"

Maybe this challenge was going to be fun after all.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: An early post, for tlh45, as an apology for the shortness of chapter 8. And for the Guest reviewer who wants to get in my head and sleep there till you work out my plot - please, be **_**my**_** guest! I could do with somebody sane in there, lol. Loving your thoughts, by the way! It's such a help to see what everyone thinks about the story so far, and how everything is coming across. Plus, you all make me smile! Thank you so much for reviewing, following, favouriting... or just plain reading!**

**On the subject of Mac whump, I have just one word to say. 'Mwahaha...'**

**To 1917farmgirl and Lily Moonlight - thanks, as always!**

**Next update will be Friday at the latest.**


	10. Chapter 10

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"No one is so brave that he is not disturbed by something unexpected." (Julius Caesar)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Ten**

"Mac's not here. Said he had to leave early. I got the distinct impression that it was personal, so I didn't like to pry. He had that look on his face. You know the one..." Stella shrugged.

"I do," Flack said, with feeling. He knew it very well.

Lindsay allowed herself a tiny smile and stayed quiet, as she remembered the thumbs-up that Danny had given her when he left Mac's office that morning.

Stella's laugh was merry. "Anything we can do? Or is it another secret?"

"No secret. It's a little weird, though."

"Okay, now I'm intrigued," Lindsay cut in at last. "You _have_ to tell us."

"Hey - I'm still tryin' to work out if I dreamed the whole thing, okay?" With the skill of a natural born storyteller, Don began to spin the tale of his recent adventure. When he came to the part where the whole building sheathed itself in armour, Stella looked dubious.

Lindsay's reaction, however, was one of shock.

Ice-cold, and far too familiar.

Not to mention impossible to hide. And now she felt guilty as well, though the fault was not hers.

"Thorne Tower?" she said. "Are you sure?"

"Real sure." Don caught her expression. "You know something I don't?"

Where to start? She tried not to look at Stella. "Only this. Danny's there. Right now," she confessed. "With Mac... and Adam."

"In the _t__ower_?" Stella cried. "I don't understand. Lindsay, what's going on?" There was an edge to her voice.

"Another secret, I'm afraid," she confessed. "I'm sorry, Stella. It wasn't mine to tell - or Mac's for that matter," she added hastily, trying to explain. "But I'll tell it now." They waited, as she searched for the words. Her mind was drifting apart, like a cloud. She pulled it back together. "Adam won some kind of competition when he was on sick-leave. His prize was a trip to Thorne Tower. On its opening night. That's tonight," she added, unnecessarily.

"And the others? Mac and Danny?"

"Danny knew. He knew that Adam hadn't told another soul, for some reason. That he was going there, all alone. And it just didn't feel right. So he came up with a plan - to go round to Adam's place this evening and show his support. To make Adam take him." Her face fell. "He asked me for advice and I told him I thought it was a good idea..."

"Sounds like you were right," Don said grimly. "You wanna stop your guilt trip for a moment and picture Ross in that fortress all by himself?"

The point was a good one. Lindsay swallowed. "Thanks," she muttered.

"And Mac?" Stella asked her quietly. To Lindsay's great relief, her voice was warm again, and sympathetic.

"Yeah," Don chimed in. "No offense to the guy - he looks great in a tux, and all - but I would have thought that if Danny was going to take anyone to a party, it'd be you." His humour was sly; a further attempt to raise her spirits.

"I'm not really sure. Danny wouldn't explain. He did have a reason; I could tell. I think..." Lindsay stopped, and shook her head. She had her suspicions, of course - but why make a bad situation even more complicated? Only one thing mattered right now. One question, that had to be answered.

_Were_ their friends in the tower?

Pulling out her cell phone, she brought up Danny's number and dialled it. Her face fell as she listened to the tone. "Out of range," she told them, trying to keep her voice steady.

Don tried Mac. "Same here." He turned to Stella. "You got Ross's number?"

"In my office." She left the room in a hurry, her stride full of urgency. They watched her go.

"This is crazy." Lindsay's head was beginning to ache. "Are they trapped? What's going on, do you suppose?"

The panic in her voice alerted Don and he strove to reassure her. "Look - we don't know for certain that they're in there, okay? They could have been late. The lockdown could have happened before they got there."

"You don't believe that," she told him flatly.

"I know how to find out, though." He frowned, and she guessed that he was picturing the scene. "There were TV cameras all over the place when Jess and I got there, okay? I'm betting they filmed the guests as they went in. Give me half an hour. I'll soon tell you whether or not they're inside."

Lindsay shook her head. "It's not fair, Don. They've only just..." She couldn't finish her sentence - but then, she didn't have to. Don knew. It was written all over his face. He knew exactly what she was thinking.

_They've only just recovered from their last ordeal._

_It isn't fair..._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mac had grown accustomed to Adam's nervous style of conversation over the last year or so. Familiarity didn't stop him wishing that he could grab the young man by the shoulders and force him to get to the point - but he understood the compulsion and its probable cause. Sometimes, though he would never admit it to anyone else, he found Adam highly entertaining. A ray of sunshine in a dark and serious profession.

Right now, however, Adam was silent to the point of being completely withdrawn. He walked a few steps ahead, gazing down the endless corridor with that focussed look that he always got in his blue eyes whenever a problem drew him in so deeply that it took him to another place; a world of his own where the only thing that mattered was the puzzle and its solution. Mac liked this Adam even more than the talkative one. He knew that world, and envied the man his easy access to it.

So - Adam was concentrating.

Danny, on the other hand, could not stop talking.

Mac listened patiently.

"Hey boss - you know in those sci-fi shows, right, where the captain walks through the spaceship and the corridors all look the same? So you think he's heading somewhere - point A to point B - but really there's only one corridor 'cos the budget wouldn't stretch to a bigger set, and they're actually walkin' in circles...?"

"You think we're going nowhere?"

"Something like that, yeah." Danny's eyes were sharp behind his glasses. "We've turned left again. What's to stop us ending up right back where we started?"

"Seems a little pointless..."

"Sure, but this building is like a maze. Isn't 'pointless' kind of... well, the point? Dead ends and confusion? Who's to say that there's a path here? No one told us to come this way."

"The pianist must have done." Mac clung to his optimism, even though it was fading.

"So we thought, okay? What if we were wrong?"

"Danny..." Stopping in his tracks, Mac sighed and shook his head. They shared a weary look. "I don't suppose..."

Whatever he was about to say flew right out of his mind, as a thump and a startled cry yanked their attention back to Adam.

Who was nowhere to be seen.

"Say what?" Danny yelled, stepping forwards. Mac grabbed his arm.

"It's a trap," he hissed. "We don't know what triggers it. Stand still!"

"Oh. _Oh._" Danny's eyes grew wide. "Not good. You think it's in the walls?"

"More likely the floor. Adam was walking right in the middle of the corridor. Why would he lean on a wall? There must be something..." Mac paused. "Adam!" he shouted. "Adam, can you hear me?"

Nothing. A lump rose in his throat but he swallowed it down. No time for panic.

"Adam!" His voice grew louder. Danny joined in.

But as the echoes died away, there was only silence, save for their rapid breath and the pounding of their anxious hearts.

Danny dropped to his knees. At first, Mac thought that he was sinking in despair. But his next move was an unexpectedly practical one. He lay down on his stomach and began to crawl forwards, his nose almost touching the floor as he searched for cracks or hidden switches.

Bending down behind him, Mac caught hold of his ankles. Danny gave a reluctant laugh.

"Tickles," he admitted.

"Sorry." Mac smiled grimly. "Tell me what you see."

"A lot of dust, for a brand new building. This ain't good for my tux, Mac. Nothin' else, though... no, wait!" He stiffened, running his fingers along a spot in the floor that was right in front of him. "I got it. There's a trapdoor here. Poor Adam - he must be freakin' out down there. Wherever 'there' is..."

"So much for safety protocols," Mac growled. Kneeling down, he wriggled along until he was lying next to Danny.

"What now?"

"Simple. We get him out of there."

"Right. Simple." Danny nodded. "And - ah... no disrespect, but how do you plan to do that, boss?"

To Mac's dismay, his mind was utterly blank.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Like a beetle on its back, Adam lay spread-eagled in the trap. His arms twitched feebly as he fought for air. It was a terrifying moment. The force of his landing had knocked the breath right out of his body, which seemed to be punishing him in return. Fear told him to panic - but Adam's survival instinct was stronger, and he knew what to do. Stay calm. Relax.

He let his arms go limp and tried to imagine a gentle rise and fall... rise and fall...

_What up...?_ he thought giddily, staring at the bright spots that danced before his eyes.

Gradually, his chest dropped and the tension subsided, melting away into the floor beneath him.

With an effort, he finally drew in enough air to fill his aching lungs.

Offering up a prayer of thanks to the God who watched over clumsy lab rats and kept them from breaking their necks - or any other part of their anatomy - Adam rolled onto his side and tried to sit up.

It took several attempts, but at last he was upright; his legs stretched out, his hands behind him for support, and his mouth wide open as he gazed at the place into which his own bad luck had dropped him.

The blue strip of light winked back at him in a friendly manner.

It ran down from the ceiling, which would have been just above his head, had he been standing. As it neared the floor, it turned and headed off into the shadows, a dwindling guideline, staining the tunnel with its wavering glow.

"I'm under the floor," Adam murmured. That much was obvious, of course - but what was he doing there? And how on earth was he going to get out?

"Mac will help me." He said it boldly, in order to make himself believe it. The boss-man was invincible. If there was a way, then he would find it.

A smaller thought poked sharply at the corner of his mind.

Small but insistent.

_And what about you?_ it said. _What will you do...?_

Curl up in a ball again and wait to be rescued?

Cry...?

He dashed an angry palm at his eyes and struggled to his feet, grabbing the Port-all which had landed nearby when he fell. The top of his curly head brushed the ceiling - or was it the floor? Adam smacked the underside of the trapdoor in frustration, feeling its thickness with his fist as he did so. It was plain to see that there was no way of opening it from this side. He was stuck.

"Mac?" he yelled, his voice sounding thin and tired to his ears in the narrow tunnel. "Hey, Mac? Danny! I'm down here..."

No answering call. No footsteps overhead. No sudden figure plunging through to join him.

Nothing.

He was on his own.

Adam glared at the blue strip of light.

"You better not be leading me somewhere even worse," he told it archly.

With a deep sense of foreboding, Adam set off down the tunnel, his fingers trailing along the wall and Arabella's bag still crashing into his leg with every move that he made, in spite of his best efforts to adjust it.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: Thanks to 1917farmgirl and Lily Moonlight for their helpful comments on this chapter, and to all of my humorous and delightful reviewers - you're awesome, and you make my day! Hope you liked this instalment. Next update will be Sunday at the latest. **


	11. Chapter 11

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"I have become my own version of an optimist. If I can't make it through one door, I'll go through another door - or I'll make a door. Something terrific will come, no matter how dark the present." (Rabindranath Tagore)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Eleven**

When Don Flack returned to Thorne Tower, he found that the crowd had tripled. _Leave it to New Yorkers to find entertainment in a giant metal box,_ he thought. Angell had called for reinforcements, predicting the rise in numbers and the spread of panic. Uniformed officers were posted at regular intervals, watching the spectators and confining their anxious surge to a steady swell.

"There you are," Jess grinned, as he reached her side. "What did Mac say?"

"Mac said nothing. Wait 'til you hear this, okay? According to Lindsay, he's in there right now, with Messer and Adam Ross."

"The lab guy from the hostage thing last month? The one who saved those cops?"

Flack nodded. Jess swore under her breath - unusual for her.

"That's bad luck. Are you sure?"

"Not yet." He craned his neck and scanned the crowd, searching for... "Ah! That's it."

"A TV crew?" Jess narrowed her eyes for a moment. "Oh - I get it. Proof. You think they filmed the guests."

"I'm hoping so." He rubbed his hands and raised one eyebrow. "Time for a little Flack charm..."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Are you sure?"

Mac frowned at Danny, who was holding out his hand. His good hand. "Boss. I got this. The only way to trigger the trap is to step on it, right? I won't let you fall. I'm set." He shifted his weight from side to side, preparing himself. Both feet were planted firmly, wide apart, and his knees were bent to take the strain. His grin was encouraging - but Mac was not convinced.

"And if you can't?"

"Then I guess at least we've found Adam?" He shrugged. "What choice do we have? Besides, this was your idea."

"I know. That doesn't mean I have to like it." Mac reached out with both hands. He wrapped the first one carefully around Danny's forearm and settled the other in an even tighter grip, palm to palm. Danny's fingers clenched against his own. They were white already.

"Go!" he hissed.

Mac started to shuffle backwards. As his heels met the edge of the invisible trapdoor, he felt a corresponding lurch in his gut. Stepping into danger went against every natural instinct. But Adam was down there. Stuck beneath the floor - unconscious, for all they knew.

_What choice do we have?_

A tell-tale shift was his only warning. The panel flew downwards, taking him with it, and suddenly he was dangling in mid-air. His chest slammed painfully against the side of the trap - but Danny had him. Red in the face, he pulled against his boss's weight with ever-increasing difficulty.

"Don't let it close," he said urgently, "or you'll be half the man you used to be..."

"Don't joke!" Mac gasped. "That isn't funny..."

He peered down between his dangling shoes. The floor didn't seem to be all that far away.

Yet still there was no sign of Adam.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Nice try, detective." The reporter was small and feisty. "You got a warrant? This is real good stuff. Award-winning. My ticket off this second-rate crew and into the big leagues."

"Hey!" said a sleazy-looking cameraman who was lounging nearby and nibbling holes in the lip of an empty coffee cup. Every now and then, he spat out a wad of pulp. Flack edged backwards to avoid the repulsive missile.

So much for charm.

He had flashed the woman his most endearing smile, to no avail. Clearly, she was immune. Or desperate. Looking at her crew, he found himself leaning towards the latter. Layabouts, the lot of them. Whilst she was a force of nature in an almost-designer suit. He studied her lacquered hair, her bright lips and her perfectly manicured nails.

Time for a new approach.

Taking a deep breath, he started again.

"My mistake," he told her with a serious air. "I see now that you're a woman of integrity."

The tilt of her head was tiny, but unmistakeable.

"I should have been straight with you, right from the start."

"Go on...?"

"Your footage is vital. Could be a matter of life or death." He held her gaze. "You help me, I'll help you."

She frowned. "Exclusive?"

"Hey - it's your material." Flack nodded, and the woman stuck out her hand.

"Deal," she said. "I'll hold you to your word, detective. I want everything."

"When I know, you'll know," he promised her, flashing_ that _smile once again...

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Danny could feel his dress-shoes sliding nearer to the gaping hole in the floor. He bore down with all of his might as Mac continued to peer into the void below, searching desperately for any sign of their lost companion.

"Hey, guys," said a familiar voice. "Need some help?"

Almost. He almost dropped his boss. Through a trapdoor, into oblivion.

"Adam?" they both cried.

"Are you freakin' _kidding _me?" Danny added, under his breath.

Adam gave one of his nervous laughs, but had the grace to look shamefaced as well.

"I'm back," he offered feebly, skirting around the trap and lending Danny his own good hand as they pulled Mac out of the hole and onto the nice safe floor beside it.

"So you are," Mac said. "Good of you to join us, Adam."

The lab tech helped him up with a wary expression on his face. "You're not... mad, are you? Boss, I didn't mean to, okay? I don't really know what happened... One minute I was walking along the corridor, all right, and the next I was seeing stars..."

"You hurt?" Danny asked him, gruffly. Inside, he was full of such relief that he could barely speak.

"I'm fine."

_Stock answer,_ Danny thought, but he said nothing. No blood and no bruises. (Fresh ones, anyway.) Not even a tear in his over-sized tux. He'd take the man at his word, for now.

Adam's voice grew soft as he bowed his head before them. "Thanks for trying to get me out..." he said, glancing back at the hole, which had sealed itself without a single crack to show that it had ever been there.

"We should have known you'd find a way," Mac told him kindly.

Adam flushed.

"I did," he said. "I followed the light. And boss, you have to see this..."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Flack tried to find a safe place to sit amidst the junk food wrappers and piles of equipment. The van was a cess-pit on wheels. He wrinkled his nose and tried not to inhale. Exactly how long could a person hold their breath before they passed out?

"Here," said the cameraman, who had swapped his empty cup for a large wad of gum. He swirled it noisily between his tongue and the roof of his mouth, pausing every now and then to mash it with his teeth, in full view of Flack's horrified eyes.

His sympathy for the feisty reporter went up another notch.

The cameraman slapped at a couple of buttons and a screen burst into life, first with static, and then with a wobbly shot of the tower. "That's perfect," Flack told him. "It's still light, so the party's just gettin' started." He checked the time stamp in the corner of the screen. "Twenty past five. You been here that long?"

"Hey, we go where the action is," drawled the cameraman.

Behind them both, the reporter gave a snort. "I had to drag him out of the break room by the scruff of his neck," she muttered.

'Scruff' was the right word. "Great image," Flack said. "Thanks."

The reporter laughed.

"Beth Rydell," she offered, with a brief nod.

_Names, now, is it?_ he thought. _She must be warming to me after all._

"Don Flack," he returned.

"So tell me - what are you looking for, Don Flack?"

"I need to see each guest as they arrive." He leaned in closer to the screen and stabbed his finger at the glass. "Can you go faster?"

Showing a spark of interest at last, the cameraman pressed another button. The crowd became manic. Figures darted up to the door with ridiculous haste. "There!" Flack cried at last. "Stop there."

The playback halted, and he stared at the scene before him.

Three men, stepping from a cab, dressed in tuxedos.

Flack shook his head. Until that moment, part of him had been reluctant to believe it. Now, he had no choice.

"Wrong place, _wrong_ time," he muttered, as he reached for his cellphone and keyed in Stella's number.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed - I LOVE your comments and I always take them into consideration!**

**Thanks, as always, to 1917farmgirl and Lily Moonlight, for their valuable input.**

**Next update on Tuesday at the latest.**


	12. Chapter 12

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"People are more than just the way they look." (Madeline L'Engle)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Twelve**

Sid Hammerback prided himself on being a man who loved his work and carried it out to the best of his ability. As such, he spent rather a lot of his free time exploring the complex subject of death - a morbid hobby, no doubt, and one which led to raised eyebrows (Mac's, more often than not) whenever he mentioned it. Sid didn't care. Each little gem of knowledge was a key - the key to a mystery that was sure to reach his table one day.

And yet, in spite of all his study, here was a mystery that taunted him and would not give up its secrets.

The worst thing was, he _knew_. He knew he had seen the marks on Rudy Nash's body somewhere before. And he just couldn't place them.

Like a word that refused to edge over the tip of his tongue, the memory hid in some dark and dusty corner of his overstuffed brain. He searched for it in vain as he washed Nash's body, letting his thoughts flow along with the trickle of water that bore away the redness of a violent end, leaving pale white skin and a body full of secrets yet to be unlocked.

The young man's face was peaceful, at least. Wet hair fell back from his forehead, brushing the metal surface of the table with dark curly tendrils that refused to behave respectfully, even in death. His eyes were closed, and the wrinkles that surrounded them made Rudy look as though he were smiling, even though his lips were slack. Wrinkles of concentration, not age, Sid thought with a sigh. Together with the sharp line between his brows, they marked him as someone who had spent most of their short life studying or peering at a screen.

"A waste? Or a pleasure?" he wondered. Not that it was his place to judge. After all, he couldn't really comment on another man's lifestyle when most people baulked at his own.

As the last drops of water drained away, Sid bent over to peer more closely at the jagged wound which, in all likelihood, had stolen the boy's life away just as he was finally learning to live it.

The cut was a deep one, and vicious. Its rough edge suggested a weapon of convenience, or possibly sentiment, rather than a blade. It had severed the brachial artery in one single slice - through luck or good judgement, Sid had no way of knowing.

Cause of death, then, was straightforward.

Exsanguination. Major blood loss from a major vessel.

And yet...

The imprints mocked him, vivid welts on the lifeless figure. Too precise to be the result of simple restraint.

An echo stirred.

Not simple, then...

But restraint. _There_ was a clue...

Sid gave a tiny smile of satisfaction.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I don't understand." Sheldon's voice in Stella's ear sounded small and far away.

"That makes two of us." She swallowed the urge to sigh. Her thoughts had been in such a muddle, ever since Don's call. "I need you back here, okay?"

"On my way," he reassured her.

"Thank you," Stella told him, grateful for his prompt response - so prompt that Hawkes had already gone, she realised a moment later. She was speaking to thin air.

Setting her phone down, she stared at it blankly. Her mind felt splintered. Part of her longed to be inside the tower. How else could she help Mac and the others?

"Talk about crazy," she murmured. This was real life, not science fiction. Skyscrapers didn't sprout armour, and Manhattan 'royalty' cared more about cocktail parties and jet-setting lifestyles than sealing themselves inside a giant fortress.

What was Thorne playing at?

_Playing..._

The word struck a heavy chord. Was this just a game, or something far more serious?

And how on earth had Adam Ross, of all people, tangled himself and his friends in the middle?

Too many questions. Stella was buzzing with nerves. _I need something constructive to do,_ she decided. Leaving her office, she went in search of the enigmatic puzzle box.

That was the key. She was certain - a gut reaction, urgent and strong.

Mac would smile, and tell her to follow the evidence, not just her gut. A fine example of the pot and the kettle.

But Mac wasn't here.

And everything rested on her now.

Taking a deep breath, Stella put on a calm face and stepped through the doorway of the Trace lab, startling Lindsay in the process.

"Any luck?"

She tried not to look too dismayed when Lindsay shook her head.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mac stared in surprise. Adam was beckoning urgently.

"See what?" Danny voiced the obvious question . "Adam, how did you get here?"

"I told you," he said, looking slightly exasperated. "I followed the light."

"Of course you did. And, um... how hard did you hit your head when you fell?"

"Danny." Mac could see that Adam was not in the mood for jokes right now. Nor was he acting erratically - even for him. His eyes were bright and his gesturing hand was insistent. "I think that what Adam means is, if we follow him, he'll show us. Right?"

"Right, boss," Adam said with relief. "Come on - it isn't far."

He started to edge past the trap once more, leading the way. Before they could follow him, however, an unexpected sound reached their ears. The three men paused; Adam hugging the wall. Clearly he was in no hurry to repeat his trip.

Mac turned.

A wary group was making its way towards them, moving quickly. Four women, in a nervous huddle. A red suit - that was Maya Jordan. Clinging to her arm was the pale friend. Behind them, hand in hand, were the mother and her daughter.

Watching with interest as they drew closer, Mac could see that all of their expressions were the same. Defeat, behind a flimsy mask of truculence. Only the pale girl kept her head down. Her long fringe covered her eyes, and her shoulders were drooping. Maya seemed to tolerate her touch, but gave her no other attention. An odd kind of friendship.

"We found the door," Maya said unnecessarily, halting in front of him.

"So I see." He gave her a reassuring smile. "Safety in numbers?"

She glanced back at the rest of her group.

"You could say that." The smile seemed to warm her and she tried one out in return. Mac rather liked it. Honest, and open. Always a good sign. Beside him, Danny piped up.

"You want to join us?"

"Yess," said the pale girl, lifting her head. Her voice was practically a whisper. "Please..."

"This is my friend, Jane Brooke," Maya told them. She seemed to have adopted the role of spokesperson for the little group, waving an airy hand behind her as she completed her introductions. "Anna. Grace. And I'm..."

"Maya Jordan," Danny nodded. "Yeah, we know."

Meanwhile, Adam had slipped back to join them. He smiled at the women shyly. "Hi," he said. "I'm Adam."

Maya looked surprised. "You are?" When his eyes grew wide in confusion, she hastened to explain. "I read your paper. It was really good. Original. And quirky."

"That's our Adam," Danny muttered, under his breath but loud enough for Mac to hear. For once, the lab tech did not laugh at his joke.

"Hey, thanks," he told the girl. "I'm sorry - I didn't get chance to read yours."

"Doesn't matter. It was mostly computer jargon anyway. Hard to follow."

"I like computers." Adam smiled.

Behind Maya, there was a muffled snort. Apparently, Grace felt the conversation had gone on long enough. Mac could feel the force of her derision, like a heat that radiated from her entire body. It had already wilted her daughter, who bore a constant air of less than patient suffering. "Mother..." she sighed, but there was no conviction in her voice. Grace blundered on, unchecked.

"You're a policeman, right?" she demanded.

"Detective. I'm a CSI." In this woman's eyes, he could tell, details were important. "Head of the New York Crime Lab."

His guess was correct. She gave a slight bow of her dark head, and when she spoke again, it was with respect.

"Then you may lead," she said.

"Thanks so much," Danny murmured. This time, Adam did laugh, and so did Maya Jordan. Even Anna's eyes held a gleam of silent delight. Grace ignored him, like a noblewoman who does not even see the peasants at her feet.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

Mac looked at Adam. Everyone followed his gaze; even Grace, he noted with satisfaction.

"Well?" he said.

To Adam's credit, he bore their scrutiny and did not falter.

"This way," he said. "I've found a way out of the corridor at last. Oh - and watch your step," he added, smiling, as Mac began to guide the new members of their expedition around the invisible trap. "Been there. Done that. And trust me - you wouldn't enjoy it."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: Next update will be Wednesday evening. Thanks for all the reviews! And thank you to 1917farmgirl and Lily Moonlight. This chapter was tricky, and your advice was helpful.**


	13. Chapter 13

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"You don't invent circumstances, but when they happen they reveal human nature." (Louis Khan)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Thirteen**

Proudly, Adam led the little group around the next bend in the corridor. He watched Mac's expression, eager to see his boss's reaction when he realised the significance of his accidental discovery.

"A door in the wall?" Danny said. "But you fell through the floor."

"I know. Crazy, huh?" Adam grinned.

Mac's keen eyes lingered on the folded wedge of card which had been squeezed into the crack beneath the door, holding it open. It was Adam's invitation, which the giant sentry had returned to him as he entered the building. "Low-tech again?"

"Simple problem; simple solution." He shrugged. "I thought that, if it closed, I might not be able to find it again without going... well, you know. The long way round."

Behind Mac, Maya Jordan was nodding her dark head. Clearly, she was a fan of practicality.

Stepping forwards, Danny stuck his head through the doorway. "Oh, very nice," he said with more than a hint of sarcasm. "Very retro. Concrete walls, cables and heating ducts. And I thought the ugly grey corridor was bad."

"Okay - but you don't understand." Adam's tone was defensive. "The corridor goes on forever, right? We've kind of established that. I think this might be the real way down off this level. Other than the elevator, I mean. Look at the plaque on the wall, Danny. Doesn't that help us?"

"'Maintenance Shaft B'," Danny read. "Yep. Very helpful."

"Maintenance _shaft_?" Grace Adachi looked horrorstruck. "You don't mean _ladders_?"

"Actually, more of a walkway." Adam turned back to Mac with a helpless look upon his face. "What do you think, boss?" No one else seemed to appreciate the brilliance of his plan, and he was starting to feel discouraged.

Mac edged past Danny, onto the wide metal platform that was just beyond the door. To Adam's great relief, he was nodding thoughtfully. A warm flow of air rose up through the shaft, ruffling his short hair as he leaned over the rail and stared downwards. "It's like an internal fire-escape," he commented, clearly intrigued. "How on earth did you get here? Danny's right - you fell through the floor."

"Yes, into a tunnel that came out onto a platform directly below this one." Adam joined him. Together, they studied the black pit that fell away beneath them. A blue spiral, curving downwards into the shadows in line with the metal stairway, was all that could be seen of the ever-present strip of light. Without it, the shaft would be an abyss. It was far from appealing. "When I first saw the drop, I must admit, it freaked me out." He gave a little smile. "Kind of glad no one saw that..."

"No kidding," muttered Anna, who was looking distinctly nervous herself. "You're not actually suggesting we go down this way, are you? Have you _any_ idea what floor we're on?"

"Seventy-two," said a soft voice behind her.

The whole group turned as one. Jane Brooke was so startled by their combined gaze that a tinge of pink rose to the surface of her white cheeks. "I counted," she offered, by way of an explanation. "On the way up."

"Then you did what I couldn't." Mac's smile was encouraging.

"I call her the human calculator," Maya laughed, nudging her friend.

"Don't..." Jane whispered. "It's embarrassing."

Noting her distress, Mac drew them back to the subject at hand. "Seventy-two," he repeated. "And the voice said that Thorne's apartment was at the heart of the tower. Assuming that means the centre, then we need to climb down..."

"Thirty-six flights of stairs; yes, we got that, thank you." Anna's fear put a snap in her tone. Mac answered calmly.

"Any security measures are likely to be in the corridors. This shaft may be our safest option."

"Then what's to stop us climbing all the way down and simply waiting on the ground floor until the building decides to let us go?" Anna continued, clearly maintaining the argument as a way to disguise her own misgivings.

_One guess,_ Adam thought, watching her mother's face. _Half a million dollars..._

Mac glanced at Adam. "Respect," he said quietly. Then he turned back to the others. "You can do that, if you want to. The way I see it, each of us has three choices. Go back. Go round in circles. Or go forwards. We intend to try and solve the puzzle. That way, the game ends quickly."

"Then we better get going." The look on Danny's face spoke volumes. Enough talking. Time for some action. Adam found himself agreeing. Any more waiting around and he'd start to think too deeply about what it was they were just about to do.

The new additions to their group fell silent. One by one, they filed through the doorway, joining the three men on the metal platform. "We're with you," Maya said, on their behalf. Jane was trembling by now, and clung to her friend in a vice-like manner that looked rather painful, but Maya did not peel her fingers away, or even show that their grip was hurting her. Adam began to revise his opinion of the relationship between the two young women. There was more consideration on Maya's part than he had seen at first glance. Jane, meanwhile, was a riddle in ghostly form.

As for the mother and daughter - deep feeling, tightly controlled, was the strongest impression that he got from them.

He wondered what they thought of him.

A fool in sneakers and a borrowed suit, no doubt.

Yet somehow, their opinion didn't matter. Not when Mac was looking at him with those sharp eyes and that almost-grin. He was pleased, then. _I did something right,_ Adam thought.

_At least, I hope so..._

No one suggested closing the door behind them. Having it open like that was a comfort - a way back, should they suddenly need it. Adam prayed that his home-made doorstop would hold.

Shuffling into single file, they set off down the metal steps, their footsteps ringing in the confines of the shaft with a swollen sound that filled Adam's head and made him want to clap his hands over his ears. But he needed his hands on the rails, as the spiralling descent made him feel increasingly dizzy - and so he clenched his teeth instead, forcing his mind to veer away from the echoes and the vertigo, and the endless motion...

... straight into another dark place.

_Not there,_ he told it harshly, wrenching it back again. This time, he concentrated on Mac's shoulders right in front of him, strong and determined, rising and falling with every step...

Much better.

Time passed... and suddenly, his dreamlike state was interrupted by a loud squeal, magnified and split apart until it became the howl of a unseen spirit.

Everyone froze.

"Jane, _please_!" Maya begged.

The heartless echo took up the cry.

_please please please please..._

"No!" It was the loudest that Adam had heard Jane speak. The word spun round and round the shaft. At last, growing weary of its game, the echo let it sink into the darkness beneath their feet.

At the back of the scattered line, Jane lay on the steps, one leg tucked beneath her, the other one sticking out in front - exactly as she had fallen. A look of terror masked her previously shy expression; made eerie with patches of blue light and elongated shadows, cast by the strip above her head, which pulsed in a curious manner and then grew steady once more. "I can't," she hissed.

Her friend considered.

"Did you count?" she said. "Like I told you?"

"Fifteen floors," Jane mumbled stubbornly. "Four hundred and eighty steps..."

"And it didn't help?"

"No," the pale girl repeated. She clung to the metalwork with both hands. The rest of her body was rigid.

Behind Adam, Danny turned and darted back up the stairs, squeezing past Grace and her daughter, who leaned against the wall in order to give him space.

"Let me try," he whispered to Maya, as soon as he reached her. She frowned, but nodded.

_Good luck,_ said her dubious expression.

Adam watched with bated breath. What could Danny do, that Maya couldn't? This girl was a stranger to him, and she was terrified. That put her far beyond logic and reason.

"Counting, huh?" Danny asked her gently.

Jane's nod was automatic.

Crouching down beside her, he waited. Slowly, she raised her eyes to his. "I use baseball stats myself," he told her, keeping his voice calm. "Late at night, when I just can't sleep. What works best for you?"

"I like prime numbers," she whispered, clearly responding to his easy manner.

Danny pulled a face. "Not my strong suit, I'm afraid. How far can you go?"

"How long have you got?" she asked him, with a ghost of a smile.

"Ooh, challenge time. I like it. Show me," he said. Reaching out with a casual hand, he laid it across her own. She flinched, but did not pull away. His other hand slipped around her shoulder. "You ready?"

Jane looked at Maya. The dark-haired girl nodded back, with an expression of deep fascination. Adam knew exactly how she was feeling.

"Two," Jane said faintly, as she rose to her feet. Danny supported her all the way. Her movements were stiff, but showed no sign of pain.

"I got the next one. Three," he grinned.

Jane continued in a low voice, as she took her first shuddering step. "Five. Seven."

"Eleven..." he chipped in.

Pausing, she flashed him another brief smile. "Thirteen..."

"Go on," Danny told the group. "We're right behind you."

"Wow," Adam sighed. He couldn't help himself. Softly, Maya echoed his amazement.

In this curious way, they set off down the stairs once more; Mac in front and Danny taking up the rear, with his enchanted partner and her grateful friend. Not once did he let go of her hand, and not once did her voice falter. When Adam turned to glance at them, Danny flashed him a wide grin that was full of relief.

Meanwhile, Mac had taken over the job of counting levels. Adam helped him. "Wouldn't want you to make a mistake," he joked - although there was little humour in the thought. _We don't even know what floor we need, really. _ _Or what we'll find when we get there..._

To make matters worse, Adam's stomach was starting to complain. The noise wasn't quiet and it certainly wasn't subtle. "We should have brought some of that party food with us," he moaned to his boss. Why hadn't they thought of _that_ when they were setting out?

"Look in the bag," Mac suggested. "Maybe Arabella keeps a secret stash. Some people do."

Pausing briefly, Adam slipped his hand into the heavy Port-all and swirled it around in a random, blind search. _Chocolate would be heaven_, he thought dreamily. Or some kind of energy bar. Right now, he wouldn't even complain if he found a bag of sunflower seeds or something equally dull.

His fingers closed on a shiny oblong and he pulled it out, eyes wide and hopeful.

Mac gave a short laugh.

"Tasty," was his wry comment.

Adam looked down at the object in his hand. A pack of gum.

Fantastic.

"Want some?" he said, in an effort to save face, picking it open and holding the end out to his boss.

Mac waved it away. "No thanks."

With a shrug, he pulled out a flat stick and shoved it into his mouth. Anything to take his mind off the pangs that were coming far too frequently for comfort.

"Thirty-six," Mac said with satisfaction, moments later.

"I... what?"

"We've made it. We're here. I thought you were counting too?"

"Guess I got distracted. Sorry." Adam blushed.

They waited for the rest of the group to catch up. Just as they had at the start of their downward journey, the seven guests huddled together on a metal platform, beside a door. _The only difference?_ Adam thought. This one was shut.

Shut tight, as it turned out.

Mac's face betrayed the strain he felt, as he set his shoulder to the stubborn panel and pressed his weight against it. "Adam. Help me," he grunted.

In the end, there were three of them pushing with all of their might - Mac, Adam and Maya, who sprang forward to help them.

Yet still the door would not budge.

Guilt was a crushing weight in Adam's chest. He had led them all the way down here. It had been his discovery, and his bright idea. Which meant that this was his fault, and no one else's.

"The way I see it, each of us has three choices," Grace mimicked bitterly. Adam resisted the childish urge to slap her. "Go back. Go on to the bottom. Or sit here and rot..."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: Every time I post a chapter, it's so exciting to read your reviews. Thank you very much! And Guest - of course I don't mind. It's kind of you to pass the story along!**

**Thank you, as always, to Farmgirl and Lily Moonlight for your valuable insights and advice.**

**Next update will be Friday evening.**

**PS Thank you to StoryLover for the maths correction on this chapter (and how kindly you put it). I knew I should have double-checked, lol!**


	14. Chapter 14

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"Here's some advice. Stay alive." (Suzanne Collins)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Fourteen**

"This is hopeless," Maya sighed.

Mac stopped pushing. She was right. Clearly, strength was not the solution here. Neither was sarcasm, however. Ignoring Grace Adachi, who hovered behind them, oozing discontent, he set his mind to the problem rather than his shoulder.

"Adam, go back up and test the doors on the next few levels. Maybe one of them will open. After all, you had no problems with the first one, did you?"

"No," Adam said in a troubled voice. Turning, he hurried away up the stairs, past the rest of the weary group.

Folding his arms, Mac stared at the door and creased his brow in concentration. It was slightly taller than he was, and made from metal, not wood, which meant that there was little chance of kicking it in successfully. Could there be a hidden latch somewhere that would release the lock? Squinting in the blue light, Mac bent down and began to examine the surface.

"What are you looking for?" Maya asked, crouching beside him.

"I don't know yet." He offered up a wry smile. "I'll let you know when I find it..?" It was more of a question than a statement. Maya laughed, releasing some of the tension on the platform.

"You know," she said thoughtfullly, "we've tried pushing 'til we're blue in the face - no pun intended." She glanced at the light and grinned. "What if it opens inwards this time?"

"That," Mac said, "is exactly what I was thinking."

"Oh yes, _great_ suggestion," Grace chimed in yet again. "Where's the handle, young lady? No, wait; that's right - there _isn't_ one. Exactly how are you going to test your theory?"

Mac clenched his jaw. He was really starting to dislike the woman. Trying to ignore her, he ran his fingers up the metal and paused as they snagged on something unexpected. _Bingo. _"I'll show you," he said. "If you'll loan me that brooch."

"My... what?" Grace's manicured nails hovered over the diamond-encrusted butterfly on her lapel, that screamed 'expensive'. "How dare you, Detective Taylor? You want to force a door open using a priceless antique? It's a brooch, not a crowbar. Philistine!"

"Oh, come on, lady." That was Danny, full of exasperation.

"Mother, please." Anna sighed and Mac heard years of frustration in that one expressive sound. "If it gets us off this god-forsaken platform, he can keep the ugly thing. You hardly ever wear it anyway." Reaching out, she twisted the clasp and removed the butterfly from her mother's jacket. Grace made a choking sound, but did not stop her. Anna passed the brooch to Mac.

"Keep your fingers crossed," he told her, by way of a 'thank you'. His eyes held a hint of mischief.

Standing up, he took the brooch pin and passed it through a tiny metal loop that he had discovered halfway up the door. He let it slip through until he reached the hinge. "An antique, you say? Let's hope that means good craftsmanship." Folding the pin back against the brooch as far as it would go, he took the whole thing in both hands and began to pull.

Creak...

_Whoosh._

The door swung open.

"Thank you," Mac told Grace politely, passing back the brooch.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

From a platform three floors up, Adam saw the sudden glowing rectangle of light that meant success.

"Score a point for the boss man," he muttered under his breath, not wanting the echoes to claim his words and make them public.

"Adam! Hurry up," Mac called out into the void.

_up up up up..._

A sudden, irrational fear of being left behind spurred Adam into motion. His feet began to pound on the metal steps, and he found himself racing down the walkway with ever-increasing speed, to the point where he was almost out of control.

The rest of the group had disappeared. Only Mac remained on the platform, holding the door ajar and waiting patiently. As Adam flew towards him, he stepped backwards out of the way.

And the world exploded.

A wall of sound and heat enveloped Adam, driving him sideways over the railing. The gum flew from his mouth as he spun in mid-air. Terror made his hands flail until they connected, purely by chance, with the bar over which he had tumbled. He slammed against the metal struts and pain drove through his body. He knew that he was screaming, but his ears refused to work. Inside his head was a nasty throbbing sensation that made him feel sick. It took several minutes for him to realise that this was his heartbeat, trying to cope with his fear.

He swung from the metal rail, his fingers in a death-grip. Slowly, he awoke to the truth of his situation.

He was hanging over a pit.

By his fingertips.

There had been... an explosion?

_Danny..._ his muddled brain recalled, as the buzzing in his ears receded. _The women. They were in the corridor..._

The thought was too awful. He pushed it away, but another one took its place, equally insistent.

Mac. Where was Mac...?

"Oh, God. Oh boss! Are you there?" he cried out, full of desperation as he struggled to pull himself up. He was far too scared to glance below him. One foot found purchase on the platform and he wedged it through the iron bars. His body was shaking, his right hand was crying out in pain and the Port-all was a wretched weight around his neck. For a second or two, he considered dropping it down the shaft. But that would have meant letting go with one hand - a ridiculous notion. Adam took a deep breath. Keep the bag, then. Which meant that the next step wasn't going to be easy.

Heaving with all of his might, he pushed upwards, inch by dreadful, gasping inch, until his stomach rested safely on the handrail. Adam teetered back and forth, and back... and forth, but oh! too far...!

He felt himself falling in slow motion.

With a thump and a heartfelt groan, he landed on the walkway in a hopeless jumble of arms and legs.

_Too many bad landings._

No time to pause and catch his breath, however. Rolling to his knees, he took in the scene around him; all the while searching, searching for his boss. The worst thought of all, he would not entertain...

Mac couldn't be... He couldn't have...

"Boss man's indestructible," Adam said grimly.

As he began to rise, the walkway moaned and shifted slightly. The force of the blast must have weakened the massive bolts that pinned it to the concrete wall.

"Oh, that can't be good," he whispered.

The doorway itself was a doorway no longer. Rubble had turned it into a wall. Could Mac be on the other side, with Danny?

Was Adam all alone again?

And then he saw it. A crumpled body, halfway down the next set of stairs.

Not blasted over the edge, then.

Not moving, either...

Shuffling carefully over to the steps, he began to edge downwards, staying low and clenching his teeth against the rising panic - his old, familiar foe.

The walkway stirred with an ominous creak.

"Hush!" Adam told it softly, freezing for a moment. "Just let me get there, okay? I have to see..."

His sentence lingered in the air, unfinished.

Mac groaned below him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

On the other side of an overwhelming mass of rubble, Danny opened his eyes.

_What the...?_

Pain thudded into his skull like a jack-hammer, over and over again. He lifted a wobbly hand - and found that he was lying on his back.

Fear took him, briefly and he reeled in its violent grasp - until a low voice dragged him back to his senses.

"Help..." it whimpered.

Jane?

Swallowing hard, he closed his mind to the driving pain in his skull and pushed himself into a sitting position. Full of disbelief, he stared at his new surroundings.

The scene appalled him.

Running just above his head, the strip of light was blue no longer. Now it pulsed an angry red.

That, in itself, was alarming...

Far worse, however, was the ugly mess that blocked his way. Dust filled the air as he glared at the hopeless barrier of twisted steel and ruined walls. Part of the ceiling had fallen down as well - was _still_ falling, in fact - leaving a nasty hole, full of blasted airducts, and cables that sparked as they swung to and fro.

Beyond, and utterly lost, was the door.

Behind him...

Danny turned and peered through the sinking dust, counting figures with growing dismay. One... two... three.

And no more.

"Help!" The frightened voice spoke again. And now he could see that it was, indeed, Jane. She knelt beside the motionless body of her friend, one hand on Maya's chest, as she locked eyes with Danny in a desperate attempt to strengthen her plea. Behind them, Anna Adachi was rising from the floor. To Danny's great relief, she, too, seemed to be unhurt, apart from an oozing cut on her forehead, made even more ghastly by the crimson glow.

With an effort, Danny clambered to his feet. The pain in his head didn't like that at all, but he muttered a few choice words and that made him feel much better. Jane's eyes grew wide.

"Oh - sorry," he told her. "I'm comin', okay? You seen Mac, or Adam? The guys that were with me?"

Mutely, she shook her head.

As he started to weave in her direction, something caught his eye on the floor near his feet.

It winked and blinked in the pulsing light; blood red like a ruby.

Except that it wasn't a ruby. It was a diamond. A whole set of diamonds, in fact; shaped like a butterfly.

And there - was that a shoe?

A lone shoe, far too near the rubble.

"Mother...?" Anna called out, shuffling closer, one hand on the wall for support. Her voice was shaky, but hopeful.

Danny's heart sank.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: Okay, first of all - 100 reviews already? I'm so thrilled! Thank you!**

**Secondly, thanks to Farmgirl and Lily Moonlight, as always. (Hopefully Farmgirl will have forgiven me by now for the cliffhanger!)**

**Thirdly - StoryLover - you are officially my maths guru. I fixed the problem in the last chapter (with a little note for you at the end) and I'm very grateful.**

**Fourthly - Guest - sadly I can't say at this point whether you are wrong or right, but I LOVE your ideas - keep them coming! It's so much fun seeing your guesses about the plot, and everyone else's as well, because it means that I've got you thinking :D**

**Fifthly - I can definitely promise that gum is not the only 'useful' or interesting thing in Arabella's bag, if that helps...**

**And finally - appetizers over! On with the main course indeed...**

**(Hope you liked the first of my nasty surprises.)**


	15. Chapter 15

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"The first rule of an expedition is that everyone should stick together." (Tahir Shah)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Fifteen**

Outside, there was chaos.

Halfway up the tower, a full row of shutters had buckled. Billowing clouds of dust spun out through the cracks as the aftershock worked its way downwards, rocking the ground beneath Angell's feet, like the passing of a subway train, or a tiny earthquake. Seconds later, it was gone - but the fear remained.

Suddenly, thankfully, Don was by her side.

"What was that?" she gasped. Around them, people were screaming and running blindly in all directions.

"A complication," Don said grimly. Together, they stared upwards.

Already, the dust was thinning out into the air around the building. Soon it would vanish altogether. Only the twisted shutters remained; the sole clue to the violent force of the explosion that had rocked Thorne's secret world.

"Do you think...?" Jess faltered. Glancing at Don's face, she knew that there was no need to finish the sentence. Why give voice to the dread that they both shared? Better to lock it down, and deal with it later when the facts were truly known.

"Of course, you get what this means," Don continued with a tone of deep resignation.

Unable to follow his train of thought, she shook her head.

"Explosion. In a tower block. In New York City? Fifteen minutes tops before we have some _very_ official company."

"Three letter guys," Jess said, in sudden understanding. "FBI?"

"Try NSA. Or both." He sighed. "It's gonna get crowded down here, real soon. And you know what they say about too many cooks..."

"They spoil the broth," she finished, peering back up at the brooding tower with a sense of doom.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The strip of light inside the shaft was badly damaged. Adam squinted through the gloom, which now had a strange red tint instead of a blue one, filtering from the unaffected levels all around them. He tried to make out the details of Mac's face, but it was tricky.

"Boss? Hey, Mac?"

_I need more light,_ he decided.

Fishing in his pocket, he found to his dismay (but not his surprise), that the phone was no longer there. "Smashed into a thousand pieces down below," he guessed in a sorrowful voice. He loved that phone.

Still, could have been worse.

_Could have been me._

Or Mac...

With shaking fingers, he reached out and felt his boss's forehead, trying to make at least a rudimentary diagnosis. Mac gave another low groan, but Adam could tell that he was still unconscious; trapped, no doubt, in a troubled, dreamlike state. Even so, the noise was a comfort. Mac wasn't dead. And 'not dead' meant that there was hope.

It also meant that Adam wasn't alone.

As he checked Mac's condition, ignoring his own throbbing hand, he kept up a garbled running commentary, mostly for his own reassurance.

"Sorry, Mac - I have to do this, okay? I know it's not the most appropriate way to treat your boss... Feels kinda weird, in fact. Oh! Not your face, though," he added hastily. "I didn't mean that. Just... let me know if you want me to stop, or it tickles, or I'm hurting you. Please, Mac? Say something? I'd really love to hear your voice right now, cos my own is kinda shaky and I'll tell you a secret - yours always makes me feel safer..."

He trailed off into an awkward silence. Only the task at hand kept him from falling into a state of utter panic. Swallowing hard, he continued to study his boss, one careful inch at a time; feeling for lumps and bumps, and deeper signs of trauma.

The skin beneath his fingertips was clammy and cold. A sticky residue confirmed his first suspicion. The darkest shadow on Mac's face was a wound, and it was bleeding.

Not good.

Adam's first thought was to tear a strip from his shirt and create a makeshift bandage. In the movies, they always did that with such flair. But this wasn't the movies. "And I'm not Bruce Willis..." he sighed. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

"Wha...?" said a tired voice.

Sitting back on his heels, Adam could have laughed out loud, he was so relieved. "Mac!" he gasped. "Are you okay..?"

"Wha...?" Mac's voice was stronger this time, but just as uncertain. A new fear wormed its way into Adam's head.

"You... you do know where you are, right, boss?"

"Adam..."

Close enough. "Yes, it's Adam.

"Danny..?"

_Oh, crap._ "Well, I... I don't know, boss. I'm sorry. He was on the other side of the door. You remember the door, right?"

Mac fell silent. When he spoke again, the word was heartfelt. "Vividly."

"Good. That's good. Um... boss, I'm trying to work out just how badly you've been injured. Any chance you could give me a little heads up? Can you move all your fingers and toes?" _Please tell me you can,_ he begged silently. Keeping the panic at bay was becoming a dreadful strain.

Shifting wearily, Mac ran through a simple body check, flexing all of his limbs, one at a time. Adam watched him through the gloom. He held his breath as he waited.

"My head hurts," Mac said at last. "That's all."

"I know. I felt the blood. I was going to make you a bandage," Adam said, far too brightly. "Care to help?"

Mac opened his eyes with an effort.

"It's dark," he said. "How did you find me?"

"Oh - the red light. Creepy, isn't it?" Peering upwards, Adam winced. "You think that means the safety protocols are off now...?" It wasn't a pleasant thought. "Red for danger, right?"

"Red...?" Mac said, uncertainly.

Adam had never heard his boss sound quite so bewildered. He stiffened and his throat grew tight. No way to force the words out. But he knew.

Mac couldn't see the light.

He couldn't see...

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Choices,_ Danny thought. It all came down to choices now. None of them good. And all of them serious.

Anna was upright and walking.

Maya was on the floor.

He made his decision.

Perhaps it was the cowardly thing to do. Anna needed to know what he had found. And yet...

And yet, first rule of triage. It's always the quiet ones that you have to watch...

Avoiding Grace's stumbling daughter, he crouched down next to Jane and gave her a reassuring smile. Well, more of a grimace - but the intention was good. Then he looked at Maya. To his surprise, her eyes were wide open, and as sharp as they had been since the moment he met her.

"You okay?" he asked, before he could stop himself. Stupid question. _Why do people always say that?_ asked the cynical part of his brain that liked to add a running commentary to his actions.

"No," she grumbled. Her voice was choked, and breathless. Dust coated her face. "I feel like... I've been hit... by a ton of bricks. What happened?"

"Well - you _were_ hit by a ton of bricks," he offered, trying to keep things light. Beside him, Jane was trembling, though she twitched a little in response to his attempt at humour. "In a manner of speaking. Some kind of blast. I don't know what caused it. Guess we triggered it somehow, along the way."

"A blast." She shuddered. "What about... the others?"

"Don't know." Danny kept his answer brief, sharing a meaningful glance with Jane. She nodded. His gaze travelled down her arm, to the hand that was pressing on Maya's chest.

Blood seeped between her fingers.

"It's not as bad as it looks," she said carefully. "Just a shallow wound. It should stop bleeding in a moment or two."

"Besides, my leg hurts worse," Maya sighed.

Danny looked - and winced.

"No kidding," he told her.

The state of Maya's injuries presented a whole new problem. Pulling out his phone, he checked the signal.

"Nothing. Dammit!" Resisting the urge to fling the useless thing against the nearest wall, he clenched his jaw and tried to come up with a plan that didn't involve leaving anyone else behind. He did not dare to wonder what had become of Mac and Adam. Jane watched him shrewdly from beneath her long fringe. "This game is over," he said, at last.

"I agree," she nodded. He turned to her in surprise. "I'll stay here with Maya," she continued. "You need to go and get help. Find..."

"...the elevator," he continued. His plan exactly. Take the safest route back to the lobby and smash his way out of this crazy place if he had to.

"Be careful," Maya whispered. Her face beneath the dust was paler, and her eyes were tight with pain. Jane gave her friend a wobbly smile.

"He will. And he'll be quick. Won't you?" Watching Danny rise to his feet, she waited for his reply. But it never came.

His eyes were fixed on Anna, who had sunk to her knees, her mouth wide open in a soundless wail.

Afraid of intruding, nevertheless he walked forwards and bent down beside her, wrapping a tentative arm around her shoulder.

They lingered there in silence. Was Grace truly dead? Clearly Anna thought so. After all, the explosion had been so sudden, and her mother had been standing right there in the corridor with them - he had ushered her out of the shaft himself. Danny had no way of knowing how far the rubble stretched, but any other fate seemed unlikely.

Watching Anna grieve for her mother, he blocked his mind yet again to the panic that threatened to overwhelm him.

Mac and Adam had been in the shaft, not the corridor.

_They're alive,_ he told himself grimly, using the thought as a shield.

They had to be.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: So many reviews! I'm very excited, and also very grateful. Thank you to everyone who has made a comment, brief or detailed, about this story. You inspire me to keep going, and to make it the best that I possibly can. (In other words, you make it take over my life!)**

**In response to 'Guest' - a clip round the ear? Not so far, but I'm sure they've been **_**really**_** tempted... **

**Also, Debbie A. - I've noticed how often you read and review my stories and I just wanted to say, thank you very much! **

**Thank you also to Farmgirl and Lily Moonlight, for their continued support and valuable suggestions.**

**This update is slightly early, and the next one should be on Tuesday evening at the very latest.**

**Isn't it funny? I blow up the guys, and everyone's happy...**

**LOL!**

**(By the way - for those awaiting Mac's POV, I can promise that the next update will be just what you are looking for...)**


	16. Chapter 16

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"Never try to solve all the problems at once - make them line up for you one-by-one." (Richard Sloma)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Sixteen**

"Thank you so much for coming on such short notice, Mr. Mori," Lindsay said earnestly.

The gentleman who stood in front of her, hugging a bulky briefcase, was certainly not what she had expected.

"Find someone who can open that thing in a hurry," Stella had told her. "Otherwise, I'm afraid we're going to have to resort to violence. I tell you, Lindsay, I'm this close to smashing it with a hammer right now." Her tone had been laced with regret as she held her thumb and forefinger less than an inch apart.

The thought of such a beautiful item having to be destroyed made neither woman happy, in spite of the circumstances - so Lindsay had used her initiative and, after half an hour of trawling through internet search engines, found a local expert in Himitsu-Bako, or Japanese puzzle boxes. Hiraku Mori, author, collector and craftsman. There was no personal picture on his website - just image after image of the most enchanting wooden boxes. No telephone number either, but Mori's reply to her urgent email had been prompt and courteous. In her head, Lindsay had imagined a genial, white-haired old man, with bright eyes and a pair of little round glasses.

So much for stereotypes.

"No worries," said the youthful Mr. Mori in a laid-back, West coast accent. His angular face was handsome, and his long black hair was slicked back neatly in a ponytail, caught up in a silver clasp. He wore a dark blue shirt, untucked, and a pair of stylish, faded jeans. In fact, 'stylish' was the word that best described him; a lean and well-presented man whose confident manner was strong, but not overwhelming. He smiled, and Lindsay found herself smiling back. "I love a challenge," he continued. "Besides, it's not every day you get invited to a gig like this." As he stared at the maze of glass panels and their enigmatic contents, his smile became dazzling - the eager look of a child in a sweetshop.

"You solve our problem," Lindsay told him, "and I'll give you a tour myself."

Mori nodded. "I'd shake your hand," he said, with a charming shrug, "but..." He shifted the briefcase, which looked extremely heavy.

Lindsay took the hint. "Let me find you somewhere to put that down. And then I'll show you the box, if I may?" Something about the man brought out her most polished manners.

Flirting, Danny would have called it, feigning jealousy. In her head, she could hear him laughing.

_Danny..._

"This way," she added quickly, pushing the thought to one side.

Abandoning the briefcase on her desk, the two of them made their way to the Trace lab. As soon as they walked through the door and he saw Stella fiddling with the box, Hiraku Mori gave a loud and delightful laugh that made both women jump.

"It seems that I carried my books all this way for no reason," he said. "I know this particular treasure very well."

"You do?" Lindsay stared at him in astonishment.

"Of course. It used to be mine. I sold it last year at an online auction. Cash-flow crisis," he admitted, by way of an explanation.

Moving forwards, he reached for the puzzle box but Stella held out a hand to stop him, followed by a pair of gloves. He sighed, and took them, sliding them on as quickly as he could, in his eagerness to hold the artefact once more. "I missed it when it was gone," he explained, with a slight air of embarrassment. "Where on earth did you find it?"

"Who bought it?" Stella asked, countering his question with one of her own.

Mori nodded. Clearly, he understood the game. Information was the goal, but his access was restricted.

"I'm afraid I don't know. The bid was large, but the bidder was secretive. No name, and only a Post Office box. I can dig out the details of that, if you like, as soon as I get back home."

"That would be wonderful. Thank you." Lindsay watched him eagerly as he picked up the puzzle box at last and turned it lovingly in his hands. Somehow, it seemed to belong there.

"Are you sure the gloves are necessary?" he asked wistfully, stroking the surface.

"Sadly, yes," Stella told him. "I take it you know how to open it, then?"

"Of course." Mori's voice was calm by now; almost hypnotic. Slowly, his fingers moved around to the side of the box. _Flick_ - and a thin panel slid to the right. "Seven sun," he chanted. "Ten steps."

"Sun?" Lindsay moved forwards, drawn by the elegant dance of his hands, and the turning box.

"It's a unit of measurement. Each sun is approximately 1.2 inches. Seven sun is large for a puzzle box. This one is old, and very rare. Who worked out the first move?" he asked them, suddenly. At the same time, another finger twitched and another panel shifted. Still, the box spun - yet Mori's eyes were on the women and their thrilled reaction.

Stella glanced at Lindsay, who blushed. "I did," she grinned. "But really, it was an accident."

"Then you're a natural." _Flick. Twitch..._ Already, they could see that the whole thing was starting to come apart. Lindsay counted under her breath. Seven moves... eight, nine...

Last of all was the lid. With a flourish, Mori drew it away from the rest of the box - and the three of them peered inside. Stella gave a cry of triumph.

"I knew it!" she said.

The hidden object was a notebook.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mac could hear the catch in Adam's breath, followed by silence. That, in itself, was disturbing. In his mind, he could see the look of fear on the lab tech's face; as vivid as it would be in reality.

Truth be told, he felt it too, like a knife-wound, deep and cold.

But he couldn't let Adam know that.

His eyes were aching with the strain of trying to pierce the blackness that engulfed him. Were they truly damaged, or was his brain merely playing tricks on him?

Was it temporary or...?

Mac could hardly bear to think of the alternative. He frowned, which sent a sharp pain crashing through his head. A wave of sickness washed him in an icy sheen of sweat. He clenched his teeth, and fought it, letting it sink through his body until it drained away, leaving him shaking.

"Help me up," he said, as soon as he could speak again.

"Wha..?" Now it was Adam who sounded vague.

"Adam. We're not safe here. Please, help me up."

He could have managed by himself, of course, but the task might just bring Adam back to his senses.

At least, he hoped so...

Moments later, he felt the fluttering of hands upon him; tentative at first, yet in the end, surprisingly strong. "Sorry, boss..." Adam whispered, as he levered him into a sitting position. The headrush that followed was almost unbearable. A groan escaped his lips before he could call it back.

"Mac," Adam's voice continued, close to his ear. "You're bleeding, okay? I need to bandage your head."

"With what?" he gasped. "A strip from your shirt?"

The snort of laughter that followed his remark was unexpected, and encouraging.

"I know," Adam said. "I already thought of that. Unless you've got a first-aid kit stashed away in that tux of yours, boss? Go on - surprise me..."

"No, I haven't." Mac gave a weak smile. "But do you still have Arabella's bag? Is there something in there we could use? Apart from chewing gum, that is... I don't fancy _that_ plastered on my forehead. No offence."

"None taken." Some of Adam's usual warmth was slowly filtering back, although his voice remained subdued.

A rattle, and several thumps meant that he had begun to rifle through the contents of the Port-all, dropping them onto the walkway, which shuddered with every new movement. Mac didn't have to see to know exactly what that meant.

If they didn't get out of this shaft soon, they were doomed.

_One thing at a time,_ he told himself, firmly.

Why try to run before he could walk?

Or stand...

The very thought of rising to his feet made him nauseous again. He swallowed it down with an effort and waited for Adam to play 'doctor'.

"Any luck?" he asked, in a voice that throbbed with impatience. Holding back his pain and fear took so much strength of will that there was little of it left to rein in his other emotions. He only hoped that Adam would understand.

"Strangely, yes. A really big embroidered handkerchief. I think it's fairly clean..."

"You're grinning at me, aren't you?" Mac demanded.

"No, boss!" Adam's denial was far too quick, and soon he relented. "Well, maybe a little... There's also a bottle of water."

"Don't use all of that. We might be glad of it later."

"I won't - I promise. Just a dab. Okay, boss; ready? This'll sting..."

Mac sat through Adam's careful ministrations, trying to divert his brain by coming up with some kind of plan. It wasn't easy. He clenched his fists against the rising tide of frustration. How was he supposed to work out what to do next, when he couldn't even see what lay before him?

Finally, as Adam tied the last knot in Arabella's voluminous handkerchief, Mac laid a hand on his arm.

"We need to find Danny," he said.

Once more, he felt it - the overwhelming silence.

Mac quailed.

"How bad?" he insisted. "Adam! Tell me exactly what happened. What can you see?" For a moment, it seemed as though Adam could not bring himself to answer. At last, in a faltering voice, he began to tell the story of how it had been. The explosion, and his trip through the air. Clinging on to the rail by his fingertips - Mac shuddered at the thought. The rubble that blocked the door, and the dreadful silence all around them, broken only by the creaking of the walkway...

"Adam," Mac said again, when he had finished. "Danny's alive. I firmly believe that."

"You do?" The voice beside him was small, but now Mac could hear the tiny spark of hope beneath the fear.

_Hold on to me, Adam,_ he thought. _We'll lead each other through this._

"I do. And trust me, we'll get out of here. You'll just have to be my eyes until they get better."

_Until._ Once more, a hopeful word. Did he mean it? Or was he simply saying it out loud to try and convince himself that it was true?

Did it matter?

Hope was the only thing that they could cling to.

"This door's blocked, you say," Mac continued. "Then we'll try the next one, and the next one, until we find a way out of the shaft. Up or down?"

"What..?"

"Up or down? You choose." _Keep thinking,_ Mac urged him silently. _Come on, Adam..._

"Down," came the sudden reply. "Because that's what Danny would do. _Will _do. He'll try to get out of here and fetch help... No more stupid games."

"Down it is," Mac said with a smile. "I think you're right."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: As always, thank you so much for your reviews! And thank you to Farmgirl and Lily, who keep a watchful eye on the madness!**

**Next update will be Thursday evening (that's UK time, by the way).**


	17. Chapter 17

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them." (Ernest Hemingway)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Seventeen**

Sheldon watched through the glass, as Hiraku Mori opened the puzzle box. He could tell by the look on Stella's face that she was fascinated. He couldn't pretend to fully understand her obsession with the object, out of all the evidence that they had collected, but he suspected that it had something to do with distraction. Distraction from the worrying events in Thorne Tower, and the fact that three of her friends and colleagues were in there.

_His_ friends and colleagues.

Sheldon shook his head.

Stella wanted to be there at the scene, as did Lindsay. As did he... But Flack had it covered, and all they could do was investigate the circumstances surrounding Nash's death - a tentative connection, if ever there was one.

He turned away from Stella and peered back into the microscope. Evidence of recent sexual activity - confirmed. But with whom? And was it relevant?

A DNA search was his next step. They could only hope that the mysterious partner was on record somewhere in one of the giant databases to which the crime lab had access. If the person was squeaky clean or off the grid, the search could be fruitless.

_Too little time._

Peering back through the window, Sheldon noticed Sid Hammerback in the corridor beyond. He was standing, frozen, clutching a file to his chest and staring at Hiraku Mori with the most enlightened look upon his face...

Now what was _that _about?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Don Flack had made an art form out of his 'I told you so' expression. Watching the dark-suited stranger approach them, he flashed a fine example in Jess's direction. She stifled a laugh, and prepared herself for the battle that was to come: sarcasm and fair play taking on 'The Man'.

To begin with, Don kept his nerve. "Detective Flack," he said, extending his hand. The anonymous agent took it.

Jess stared at the dark blue jacket with 'FBI' written on it in large yellow letters.

"Agent Rowd," was the equally short response. Don looked pained, as the stocky agent squeezed his fingers tightly. "Sorry I'm late to this party."

"The party's upstairs," Don said. His tone was far from genial. "This is the fallout."

"So I see," Rowd murmured, staring at the swollen crowd. "Your perimeter is a mess, Detective. It should be much farther back. My guys will handle that from now on."

Don flushed angrily. Jess burned with shame for her partner. The last thing he needed right now was some government flunky muscling in and lecturing him on how to do his job.

Overhead, the sky was slowly filtering from smoky grey to charcoal. Yet the darkest stain of all rose high above them. Rowd stared upwards.

"Tell me what you have so far," he said.

"Why? So you can take over? I've got people in there," Don scowled. "Friends and co-workers."

"Exactly why I _should_ take over." Rowd's generic features moulded themselves into a conciliatory expression. He ran a hand through his sandy hair as he stared at Flack. "Look, Detective. I feel your pain. But this is bigger than your personal score, okay? An armour-plated building in the centre of Manhattan? An explosion, for Pete's sake?"

Such carefully chosen words. Such restraint. Either this guy was a boy-scout, or he was tightly wound and that was never a good thing.

Watching Don glare at Agent Rowd, Jess knew his hands were tied. Diplomacy was his only hope of maintaining any involvement in this investigation. With that in mind, he forced his own features into a pleasant mask.

"So, what's the plan?" he said.

"To get inside, of course," Rowd told him. "Any headway?"

At this point, Jess stepped forward, offering Don her support. "We have blueprints coming," she offered. "And we're trying to contact the architect - although it's hard. She seems to have disappeared completely."

"How about the guys who built this monstrosity," Rowd suggested.

"Already on it," Jess replied. "The foreman is here and waiting to be questioned."

"We were just about to do that when you arrived." On the surface, Don's comment was helpful but there was an edge of sarcasm to his delivery. Jess gave a silent groan. _Stay calm,_ she urged him, wishing that she had the power to project her thoughts.

"Take me to him," Rowd said, and Jess knew from the cold look in his pale blue eyes that they could not refuse.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I'm coming with you," Anna said.

Danny folded his arms and stared at her dubiously. His head was still pounding but he ignored it. "Wouldn't you rather stay here?" he asked.

"What for?" Her voice was brittle and tightly controlled. A worrying sign.

"It's safer," he said, regretting the word as soon as it left his mouth.

"Oh, really? I think my mother would disagree."

Danny flushed and bit his lip, controlling his natural urge to make some kind of quick retort. This new facade of Anna's was a disturbing one. How could he think of relying on her? Even the smoothest mask was bound to crack under the right amount of pressure. Getting out of the tower was going to be a struggle. The last thing he needed was an unpredictable partner by his side.

"You don't trust me," she accused him.

"I'm worried about you," he replied, not quite answering her question. She noticed, but did not comment. Nor did she respond to his remark. It was a strange kind of conversation - two strands that wove in and out of each other, barely connecting.

"Very well," Anna continued quietly. "Put it this way. You walk down the corridor? I follow you. You turn left? I do the same. You take the elevator? I'll be right beside you. Ignore me or talk to me - I don't care. I'm coming with you."

"I guess you are," he sighed. With a shrug, he held out his hand. "Then we'd better be properly introduced. Danny Messer. _ Detective_. At your service."

Her eyebrows shot up slightly at this disclosure. Exactly the response that he had hoped for. An assertion of his right to lead. Not a subtle one either, but necessary, given the circumstances.

"Anna Adachi," she said, her long fingers reaching out in turn. "As you know." She offered no other revelation about herself.

_Duly noted,_ Danny thought.

Taking off his jacket, he emptied the pockets and then held it out to Jane, who was still kneeling down beside her injured friend. Thankfully, the wound on Maya's chest had indeed stopped bleeding. Red cloth was stained with deeper red, but Jane had spoken the truth after all - it was shallow. Maya's left leg was a different matter. Danny could barely look at it without swallowing hard against the bile that rose in his throat. Mangled limbs. Not a fan.

"Keep her warm," he told Jane kindly, hiding his oddly squeamish reaction behind a shaky smile that somehow made it all the way to his eyes.

"I will." She took the jacket and laid it carefully over her friend's upper body. "I... I shouldn't try to move her, right?"

"That's right. Just talk to her, and keep her awake if you can. Which means no counting sheep." Danny chuckled softly and Jane gave a wan smile in return. "I'll be back soon, with help." He felt, rather than saw the presence at his shoulder. "We. I mean, we'll be back, okay?"

"Thank you," Jane said fervently. "Good luck."

_Yeah,_ he grumbled deep inside, where no one else could hear him. _Something tells me I'm gonna need it._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Are you ready?"

Adam's query was a challenge. Grimly, Mac nodded.

"Where's the rail?" he asked.

Taking his hand, Adam guided it onto one of the metal struts. He grasped it firmly, liking its smoothness against his palm but hating the creak that followed as he tried to pull himself up.

"Oh..!" Adam's cry was short, and he followed it with an apology. "Sorry, boss."

"Why? It startled me too."

"Okay, but..."

"Where exactly is the walkway unstable?" Mac interrupted.

There was a pause, during which he used his other hand to find a second strut. Slowly, he inched upwards, sliding each palm against the metal pole and curling his fingers around it - loose, then tight. Change hands. Loose, then tight. In this awkward way, he made it safely to his feet. His head was swimming, but the rail was there to support him. And suddenly, behind him, so was Adam. One arm crept around his back, below his shoulder blades. He could even feel a warm and hesitant breath against his cheek as Adam turned to speak to him.

Mac's imagination placed an image of the lab tech's worried face in front of the dizzying blackness.

"Both sides of the door; two levels above and one below. That's not good, is it?"

"Could be worse," Mac said simply. "Could be the other way round. We're going down, remember? Good choice, Adam."

"Oh. Thank you..."

Gradually, his equilibrium adjusted to this new position. His gut stopped churning and the pounding in his ears became a gentle thump as his pulse settled down. His eyes still ached in a manner that frightened him, but that was something to explore when they were safely out of the shaft.

Safely...

_Everything's relative,_ Mac thought, as he stood taller and clenched his jaw.

Adam seemed to sense the change and moved his arm away, taking hold of Mac's elbow instead. It was clear that he was trying to find the awkward middle ground between helping and letting Mac keep his independence.

"Don't disappear," Mac told him; a subtle reassurance that his instinct was the right one.

"Wasn't planning on it." Adam's voice was heartfelt. Beneath their feet, the metal stairway gave another creak, and moved an inch to the left. Mac shuddered.

"Go," he said.

No more stalling.

He could feel the yawning pit below them, like an open mouth. If they lingered too long...

"Right foot down," Adam said, and Mac obeyed. "Now your left foot..."

Every shuffling step was a strange and terrifying nightmare. Lost in the dark, on a broken ledge. He felt as though he were teetering on the brink of hell itself.

And his only hope was Adam.

The hand that held his elbow was still shaking. Adam's right hand...

"What about you?" Mac said, feeling a sudden rush of guilt that he hadn't asked."Are you hurt?"

A short laugh.

"Bruises," the lab tech said ruefully. "Lots of bruises."

"Nothing more?"

_I don't want to talk about it,_ said the tone of Adam's voice as he offered the usual lie. "Oh, no. I'm fine... Mac, we need to keep going, okay? Left foot down... and that's the next platform in three more steps."

Evasion. Mac was familiar with the tactic. Still, Adam did have a point. Now was not the time for conversation.

Right foot...

Left foot...

Mac coughed, as something unexpected caught at the back of his throat. An acrid tang to the air.

"What's that?" he demanded.

"What's what?" Adam sounded puzzled - until he drew in a sharp breath that left him spluttering too. "Oh... Oh! That's bad! Erm... boss, now we really have to hurry. And... ah, try to cover your nose and mouth, okay?"

"Describe it, Adam," Mac said grimly, raising the front of his jacket across the lower half of his face.

"There's a cloud of... well, something," Adam told him, sounding equally muffled. "Coming slowly up the shaft and heading straight towards us. Boss, it really stinks..."

"You don't have to tell me that part." Mac pulled a hidden face. "Where's the door?"

Adam's arm snaked back around him, guiding him downwards until his feet hit the next platform. "Here."

"Will it open?"

Silence - followed by the angry sound of a rubber sole kicking metal.

"No," Adam said, in despair. "It won't."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: More Adam and Mac? Your wish is my command. Hope this chapter was fun! The next one will be up on Saturday evening. I still can't believe how many people are stopping to leave a review - thank you SO much. Your questions and comments are really helpful! Not to mention encouraging.**

**Thanks, as always, to Farmgirl and Lily!**


	18. Chapter 18

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"Hope is a verb with its shirtsleeves rolled up." (David Orr)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Eighteen**

The notebook was beautiful. Mori looked on with the gleaming eye of an artisan, as Stella lifted it carefully from the puzzle box. "Expensive," he said.

The book itself was covered in a deep blue satin-like material, stiffened and stretched onto card. A smooth cord bound it, also midnight blue, fastened with a complex knot that was also highly decorative. Two polished beads added weight to the dangling tails. The pages of the book, as Stella had noted, were off-white and gave out a scent that was musty and ancient.

"Delicate, too," Lindsay added. "Better be careful. Looks like a lot of those pages are loose. You can see the edges sticking out."

"No." Stella set it down on the table with a steady hand. She, too, was wary of its condition. "I think the loose pages are extra sheets. The colour is different - white, not ivory. Modern paper, not antique."

"I love the smell of old paper," Mori sighed with appreciation. As he watched, his hands were carefully putting the puzzle box back together. Stella wondered if he was even aware of what he was doing - and whether or not she should stop him. In the end, she left him to it. The box had served its purpose. The book was their focus now.

"That's some knot," Lindsay commented.

"Mm." Stella followed its twisting curves with a delicate finger. "You know, for a man who liked his rooms clean and simple, Rudy Nash seemed to have an even deeper obsession with complex things."

"Rudy Nash?" Mori sounded interested.

"That's the name of the guy who owned the box. Why? You know him?"

Mori shook his head, but his eyes were frowning. "Seen the name. He's been doing a lot of research into Japanese design and history." Sensing their unspoken interest, he continued. "I do most of my networking online, okay? Your man popped up on the scene about a year ago. Made quite a splash with a paper on netsuke. That's.."

"The little sculpted toggles? Yes, I've seen them in the museum," Lindsay said. "They're really amazing. So detailed and so tiny."

"Nash seems - or should I say, seemed? - to have a love of the intricate. As you say." He turned to Stella. "Puzzle boxes. Netsuke. Saya - that's a 'key' pattern, often used in Japanese design."

"Like a twisting maze. I know." Stella nodded. "Key patterns exist in many cultures - including Greek. My own..," she said proudly.

"Indeed." Mori favoured her with a charming smile. "Then you know what I'm talking about."

"I do." Stella lifted her finger from the knot with regret and reached for a pair of scissors. "Unless you know how to untie this as well?" she asked.

Laughing, Mori laid down the puzzle box, which was smooth and secretive once more. "Not this time. Sorry." He folded his arms and regarded the book. "This is evidence in your case. Do you need me to leave?"

"Not at all. You've been very helpful so far. And your knowledge of Rudy Nash is... unexpected." Deftly, Stella cut through the cord and removed the knot intact, placing it out of the way. Then she turned her attention to the front cover. It was plain and gave no indication as to what might be inside. So why was her heart beating quickly? Something... It had to be something important...

"You know, we're going to look pretty silly if the only thing in there is a bunch of romantic poems," Lindsay observed with a sly look at her colleague.

"Tell me about it," Stella breathed, trying not to sound too eager. She was so sure...

Flipping the cover open, she gazed at the first page in excitement - which quickly turned into a groan.

"What's the matter?" Mori stepped up beside her, full of concern.

"I still don't know what it says," she told him. "It's written in what looks like Japanese."

"Then you were right," he smiled. "You do still need me..."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Danny's nerves were strained, and his senses felt heightened. A tingle ran beneath his skin like an electric shock. Every creak in the walls and every whisper of dust was a stranger stalking them.

Or another ceiling about to drop on their heads.

Beside him, closer than he had expected, Anna walked in silence.

Her brooding presence made him feel distinctly uncomfortable. If he was being honest, Danny wasn't really sure how he ought to handle it. Part of him wanted to reach out and take her hand - to be the comfort that she had allowed him to be in the instant when she knew she had lost her mother. But the moment had passed. And he didn't know her well enough to find an easy way through this new barrier. If it had been Lindsay, now...

A tiny smile crept onto his lips. The thought of her name, and the warmth of her spirit was like a magic spell - and suddenly she was right there with him, matching him, stride for stride...

_You look terrible, Messer,_ she told him, smirking.

_Thanks, Montana. Next time someone drops a building on you, let's see how good you look..._

_Never happen. I'm not that unlucky._

"So you say," he challenged her - and turned his words into a hurried, guilty cough, as Anna turned and stared at him in surprise.

"I didn't..." she murmured.

"You didn't what?" Danny gave a shrug that tried to be nonchalant and failed.

"Say anything. What's the problem?"

"No problem..."

And yet again, the conversation died. This was how it had been ever since they left the other two women. Danny actually found himself starting to miss poor Jane, and the feisty Maya. He hoped that they were safe, in their makeshift camp among the rubble.

"You did the right thing, you know," Anna said, with unexpected accuracy. Her dark eyes were narrow and penetrating.

Could she read his thoughts now? Danny flushed. Oh God, he hoped not.

"Hm?"

"You looked over your shoulder, Detective. And your face is full of concern. They'll be safe. It was the right decision."

_How do you know?_ he thought - but he kept the comment to himself. No point in antagonising her when she was trying to be kind. "I guess... And it's Danny, okay? Back there, I was just..." He paused.

"You were making a point." She halted in the corridor, holding his gaze with her own. There was a haunted look about her face which softened her features and made her look younger, somehow. More vulnerable, too. Was this the real Anna, peering through at last? "And I deserved it. Sorry," she added, quietly.

Danny shook his head. "Not necessary."

They moved on. The air felt clearer now. Whether or not that was psychological, he couldn't tell - but he was grateful.

"Where next?" he asked her politely, as they reached a turning point in the corridor. "Left or right?"

Together, they studied the alternatives. Matching passageways, receding into distant shadow, filled with blank and mysterious doorways. Neither direction appealed to them. Their only other alternative was an open door ahead - unusual, and therefore a little suspicious, Danny thought. Still, he couldn't resist poking his head through and staring around the empty space.

"What is it?" Anna said.

"Hard to say. A conference room, maybe? It's not furnished, and there are heavy metal shutters on all the windows, just like the ones upstairs, so... wait!" He stepped across the threshold, peering through the gloom with growing excitement.

"What? Come _on_!" she insisted, following close on his heels nonetheless. He halted, and she narrowly avoiding crashing into him.

"Look," he said. Anna's dark eyes followed his eager, outstretched finger.

A chink of light. And there - another. And another... Not red, but natural - and now he caught the cool scent of a New York evening, cutting through the captive odour of stale, recycled air and brand new carpets.

Glass cracked under foot, the few shards that had fallen inwards, as Danny hurried over to the window, leaning his face to the gap and breathing in the welcome air. "Oh! That's good," he grinned.

"What - the smell of the city?" Anna's lips were curling upwards too. "Exhaust fumes? Pigeon droppings? Hot dogs...?" She bent down to join him, sucking greedily through the tiny hole. "You're right. It's wonderful."

He stood up and gazed around the room once more, taking in the open door, the mangled shutters, the broken windows and the chinks of light. "I think the blast found some kind of release through here," he said thoughtfully. "That must have been pretty impressive from the outside, don't you think?"

She regarded him with a solemn expression. "You mean there might be people out there who know we're in trouble?"

"Could be. That noise earlier - you know the one? Like Armageddon, only louder. What if that was a wall of shutters coming down over the building? Not just at the top, but everywhere?"

"You're right," she nodded. "That's what it sounded like."

"Then think what it must have looked like. People are out there all right." An encouraging thought. Best case scenario? Don Flack, a team of cops and a battering ram...

He lingered for a moment on that image, smiling ever so slightly. Then he glanced across the room, and his smile grew wider. Anna followed his gaze.

"Look," he told her, pointing to the sign that said 'Elevator This Way'.

Could they really be that lucky?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Adam gave the door a few more kicks for good measure, praying that somehow, magically, it would fly open and they would be saved. Deep inside, he clung to hope, but it had almost left him. They were trapped, and there was nowhere to go. Stay here or stumble upwards - either way, it was only a matter of time before the cloud overwhelmed them. He felt useless, and terribly afraid. What good was he to Mac if he couldn't even open a door?

All around him, the smell in the shaft grew stronger and more uncomfortable by the second, even through the cloth that covered his mouth and nose. Death by choking, then. Or some kind of poisonous gas? Not high up on his personal top ten of preferable ways to meet his Maker. He coughed once, and found, to his horror, that he couldn't stop. The cough became a splutter. Panic fuelled the splutter and turned it into a full scale fight for breath. Stifled by his jacket, he dropped it away from his face as he tried to drag some air back into his lungs before it became far too tainted to help him.

Without any warning, a hand reached out and found his arm. It broke the cycle of his fear, and slowly the coughing ceased. A secret look of shame stole across his face. _ Well done, Adam,_ he thought. _You coward..._ Here was poor Mac - stuck in the dark, feeling dreadful - and _he _was the one who had lost control.

"Sorry, boss," he muttered hoarsely.

"Don't apologise." Mac's voice was weary but kind. "Just take off your shoelace."

"W-what?"

Mac's hand left his arm and landed squarely on the door. _Good guess,_ said the tiny part of Adam's brain that wasn't bewildered.

He watched the urgent fingers as they began to explore...

"Adam. Have you done it?" Mac said urgently, stifling a sharp cough of his own.

Shoelace. Right... "On it, boss."

Bending down, he fumbled with the knot and began the awkward process of unpicking the long white lace. When at last he had it, Adam held it out to Mac - and then realised just what a foolish action _that_ was. "Here you go," he said, as he rose to his feet and tried to press it into Mac's free hand.

Mac shook his head. "Your turn," he said. "How are you at threading needles?"

Adam peered closer and saw that Mac was holding onto a tiny loop of metal. So _that_ was the secret. The way to open the door... Instantly, his quick brain grasped the rest and his hope was rekindled. Cursing the ache in his palm that slowed him down, he started to feed the end of the shoelace through the loop.

Around their feet, the rising cloud crept up through the holes in the walkway. Curling tendrils, stained by the red light, swirled around their feet... their ankles... their knees. An illusion that turned reality upside down and made him feel as though they were sinking.

Dizziness claimed him. Adam swayed.

"I've done it," he told Mac faintly, clenching both ends of the lace in a grip that refused to let go.

"Pull," came the muffled reply. Once again, Mac had covered his nose and mouth; a flimsy shield against the fog that assailed them.

Adam stared in sudden realisation. When had he dropped his own hand? He couldn't quite remember.

_Too late now..._ he thought. The twinge of regret was far less urgent than it should have been.

With a final burst of effort, Adam heaved on the lace.

And the door swung upon.

He pushed Mac through and toppled after him, landing heavily at his feet.

His last clear thought was an urgent one. But his body refused to obey.

_Shut the door..._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: To the Guest who wrote their first review - I'm honoured! And thrilled that you are enjoying the story. You write a really good review, by the way! It's so helpful to know which parts are working well. Thank you!**

**So - more danger (of course), and plenty of Mac and Adam. Hope you all enjoyed the update. More angst to come - I can promise you **_**that**_**. I have plenty of evil plans up my sleeve, mwahaha... (And I'm rather liking some of your ideas as well!) I will endeavour to make each chapter as loooooong, as I can, but I also like to make sure that I am able to update every other day. I'm typing like the wind! Honest! :D**

**Thanks for all the amazing reviews. When they pop up, it makes my day (or night!). And thank you to Farmgirl and Lily, my unofficial betas.**


	19. Chapter 19

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"Friendship is a sheltering tree." (Samuel Taylor Coleridge)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Nineteen**

Stella left Hiraku Mori and the notebook to Lindsay's care and headed out of the Trace lab in search of Sheldon. Time to see how he was getting on. After that, she really ought to pay a visit to Sid. She thought that she had seen him earlier, through the window - but when she looked again, he had disappeared.

Assuming that he had been there in the first place, she thought, with a hesitant laugh.

Was her anxious mind playing tricks on her?

As Stella strode along the corridor, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. Strange that Flack hadn't called her by now with an update...

She halted in shock.

Four messages, blinking silently on the tiny screen.

Oh God - when had she muted it?

_'Missed call'_ her phone said cheerfully. _'Detective Don Flack. Forty minutes ago... Thirty minutes ago... Twenty-five... Twenty... '_

Perhaps it was good news, she told herself firmly. They're out of the building. It's over...

And yet, when she dialled the number, her fingers were shaking.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mac felt the rush of air and heard the thump which meant that Adam had fallen. Not good. Reaching out with desperate hands, he clung to his instinct and his sense of direction, as he sought the door - and found it. One swift tug and it was closed, sealing the noxious cloud on the other side.

At once, the air smelled fresher.

He sank to his knees, as the weight of his exhaustion pulled him down.

There was no sound from Adam.

For one brief moment, Mac allowed despair to wash through him like a tidal wave, dragging at his soul. As it receded, he felt cleaner. Yet the ache in his skull remained; a constant source of fear. Now that they were out of the shaft, he needed to know the truth. How bad was the injury under the handkerchief? And - here he faltered - why could he not see?

To answer these questions, of course, he needed help.

Which left him with another problem.

"Adam," he said in the calmest voice that he could manage. His throat felt stripped and raw and his eyes were streaming. "Adam. Can you hear me?"

"Mmmf." The response came from somewhere below him and was followed by a sickly groan. "I feel like death..."

"You don't look good," Mac said quietly.

Pause.

"Was that..." Adam's tone was hesitant, but stronger, just as Mac had hoped. "Boss, did you just make a joke...?"

"I am capable of humour, Adam."

"Oh." He coughed, several times. "Yes, I know. You're very funny. It's just that..." As he coughed again, his thoughts seemed to unravel. "Never mind."

A shuffling sound let Mac know that the lab tech was trying to sit up. Reaching out, he offered him assistance, but a hand pushed his own away.

"I'm fine, okay?" Adam insisted. "A bit dizzy, that's all... Are you? Dizzy, I mean? What _was_ that stuff? It nearly had us."

"Poison gas." The very thought of it filled him with anger. If this was part of the building's security system, then Thorne was some kind of madman. Talk about overkill... "Chlorine would be my guess, combined with something else I couldn't quite identify."

"Is that why we smell like a swimming pool?" Adam's response was full of woe.

Mac gave a short laugh that mutated far too quickly into a fit of choking. Instantly, Adam was full of concern; a different person altogether. Firm hands took hold of Mac and set his back against the wall. He stretched his legs out gratefully and tipped his head back. So heavy. Why did it feel so heavy? His neck could barely support it.

"Boss, I'm going to take a proper look at your wound now, okay?" Adam's voice was hoarse but steady. "The light's much better here. Some kind of emergency overheads - and our old friend, the 'strip', of course. Can't seem to get away from _that_."

Feeling worn out and strangely compliant, Mac nodded. That was a mistake. Pain slammed against the front of his skull. It made him wince.

"Sorry," Adam murmured, pausing in the act of untying his makeshift bandage. "Did I hurt you?"

Mac moved to reassure him, reaching a hand up and placing it over Adam's fingers. They were cold, and still shaking slightly. That disturbed him. "Not at all," he said. "You're doing fine. Keep going..." Each word was a splinter in his throat. He tried to swallow, but it was hard.

"When we finally meet Thorne," Adam said in a deceptively innocent tone, "remind me to thank him for a lovely time."

The swallow turned into a snort.

"There we go," the lab tech continued blithely, lifting the handkerchief away from his head.

Silence followed, and the heavy sound of Adam's breathing.

Mac's fear swelled up inside him like a monster.

"Is it bad?" he said at last, unable to bear it any longer.

"Um..."

He knew that Adam was trying to weigh up how much to tell him.

"The truth, Adam, please. I'll know if you're lying."

"You always do," the lab rat sighed. "Not that I would ever... I don't lie to you, boss..." he added, hastily. "Okay. There's quite a gash on your forehead - but the good news is that it's stopped bleeding. You'll need stitches when we get out of here. I'm afraid I left my sewing kit at home, and Arabella didn't pack one in her bag." A nervous attempt to make him smile, Mac knew. "Does your head ache?"

No point lying either. "Yes," he admitted, between clenched teeth.

To his credit, Adam moved on. Both men knew the dangers. Why spell out the obvious?

"Your eyes look sore," he said, tentatively.

And there it was. The subject that both of them had been avoiding.

"I think..." He paused. "I'm _hoping_ that the force of the explosion simply bruised the optic nerve. A temporary setback." _Setback._ That was an understatement. Taking a deep breath, he continued. "Either that, or the blow to my head may have caused some trauma."

"Makes sense," Adam reassured him. "There's no bruising or obvious signs of damage around the eyes - just a lot of swelling. They're bloodshot, and they're watering, too - but you know that, of course..." His voice tailed off for a moment yet, when it returned, it was strong again. "So, what now?" he asked, tying the bandage around Mac's head once more. "Should we stay here, where it's...? Well, I guess I shouldn't use the word safe..." He let out one of his trademark giggles. In such a situation, it was hopelessly out of place, as so often happened with Adam, but it was also infectious and at last he managed to raise a smile on Mac's face. "Or should we... can you... do you think that we should move on?"

"_That,_" Mac said, "is a very good question, Adam."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Since he wasn't a government agent (thank goodness), and didn't have access to some fancy mobile unit, a nearby bookshop had become Flack's official command post.

Rowd stepped over the threshold and raised his eyebrows.

Flack ignored the look.

"This way," he said, as they passed between the shelves of new releases and 'Back to School' bargains.

The Fantasy and Graphic Novel section had a cosy nook all to itself, surrounded by tall black shelves filled with colourful spines and fascinating covers. Its atmosphere appealed to Flack, and so he had chosen it as the ideal place for interviews. Set in the middle, two red velvet armchairs faced each other. Perched on the very edge of one of them, looking nervous, was a wiry middle-aged man, in a plaid shirt and faded jeans. Short grey hair was plastered against his skull - the side-effect of wearing hard-hats all day long. He crossed his workboots clumsily at the ankles, but the rest of his body was twitching.

"What am I doin' here?" he asked, as Flack came round the corner, followed by Jess and the supercilious Agent Rowd.

"Assisting our enquiries. And we're very grateful. Aren't we?" Flack said, turning back to flash a knowing grin at Jess. Rowd received little more than a cursory nod.

Then came the moment of awkwardness, as they reached the single chair. With a swerve of his neatly suited hips, Rowd took it, leaving Flack to stand like an underling by his side. Jess hovered quietly behind them, fuming.

_Give me strength. _The detective raised his eyes to the nearby bookshelf and the comic book heroes who graced it with their presence. Right now, he could really use Captain America or Spiderman, instead of this arrogant jerk. _Maybe we should just arm-wrestle and be done with it..._

"Name?" Rowd said abruptly, pulling out a little black notebook and a shiny blue pen. Flack wouldn't have been surprised to see the letters 'FBI' printed down the side in gold.

"Lewis Bardon," the foreman told them gruffly. His eyes flicked from one person to the next - no doubt trying to find the good cop amongst the bad ones. He lingered on Jess, who frowned. Flack gave a smirk.

_Nice try, buddy._ Folding his arms, he wondered whether the rest of Rowd's technique was as scintillating as his opening move.

"Occupation?"

"Foreman."

So far, the questions were harmless. Bardon allowed himself a tiny smile. Flack watched the play of his features, and waited for Rowd to strike out. The foreman might look like Joe Average, but there was steel behind his eyes.

Not a pushover, then.

Flack knew the type. Once more, he exchanged a smile with Jess, who seemed to relax.

"Ever met Marcus Thorne?" Rowd asked.

"He pays my wage. He don't invite me to dinner."

Flack gave a nod. Smart answer. Rowd was less than impressed.

"Who was your superior on the project?"

"Missy Yamada. The architect. She managed the whole thing. Fact..." Bardon squared his shoulders, as a new thought occurred to him. "You should be talkin' to her, not me. I don't know nothin'."

"A double negative," Rowd said calmly. "Means you do. Know something."

"Talk to Missy," Bardon grumbled. "She's my boss."

"Know where she is?" Jess asked him smoothly, over Rowd's head.

"No, ma'am. She don't invite me to dinner, neither."

"What can you tell us about Thorne Tower?" Rowd persisted, glaring at Jess, who smiled back sweetly.

"Lots about steel and concrete. Glass too. That what you're lookin' for?"

"Did you install the shutters?" Flack asked.

"Made 'em. That's all. Computer runs 'em. Nash is your guy for that. I don't know..."

"Nothin'; yeah, we got that already. How much did Thorne pay you to keep quiet about your work?" Flack asked him out of the blue.

Bardon choked, and fell silent. His eyes became shifty.

_Gotcha._ The detective smiled. Below him, in the velvet chair, Rowd stiffened.

"A payoff? Then you must know something. Man, there are people trapped inside that building."

"And I got a family," Lewis Bardon insisted. "I'm not gonna steal from them. We need that money. And I promised, okay? My word is good."

"Your word's gonna land you in jail if you don't co-operate with us," Flack warned him.

Bardon shook his head.

"Steel and concrete. Glass and metal. That's my limit. I can't tell you nothin' else..."

"Then I can't help you," Flack sighed, as Rowd snapped his book shut with a cold gleam in his eye. The agent rose to his feet.

"What's he doin'?" Bardon asked warily.

"Probably gettin' ready to drag you off to Langley and question you for days about bein' a terrorist. After that - I don't know." Flack shrugged. "Maybe Gitmo?"

"What?" The foreman's gruff voice rose to a squeak. "I'm not a terrorist! I love my country."

"Just not its citizens. Who are trapped in that tower. Which has just exploded somewhere deep inside." Flack pushed forward, edging Rowd into the background. Now he was on a roll. The thought of Mac and Danny, and Adam Ross, spurred him on.

Bardon hung his head. For a while, he appeared to consider.

"I'll try," he said at last. "You ask me stuff, okay, and I'll try to answer. Thorne's not a terrorist either. Somethin' must have gone wrong. He wouldn't want innocent people to die - and nor do I. So I'll help you..."

"Thank you. That's all we ask," Flack told him kindly. Inside, he was filled with warm relief. At last. A step in the right direction.

"Detective Flack. A word?" Rowd muttered in his ear.

The agent seemed less than happy.

_Even better,_ Flack grinned to himself.

That was the moment when his phone began to ring in muffled tones from his pocket.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: Still loving your thoughts and suspicions - keep them coming!**

**Guest - I thought that was a great way of looking at storytelling and how important it is to build a visual picture so that people can imagine themselves into the scene.**

**Lily Moonlight and 1917farmgirl - you're amazing, and thank you for all your advice, as always!**

**Next chapter will be up on Wednesday evening.**

**Hope you liked this one!**


	20. Chapter 20

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"The best laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft agley." (Robert Burns)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Twenty**

Pushing through the doorway, Danny found that he was standing in a small lobby, dimly lit by the inevitable red strip, which winked at him in a lazy, knowing fashion, like the long slit of a dragon's eye.

In front of him was the glass-fronted elevator shaft.

Danny allowed himself a small sigh of relief - until he realised that things were not entirely as they seemed.

The glass doors were there. The buttons were there; 'up' and 'down', set neatly in a gleaming panel.

The cable that winched the little car on its two-way journey hung before their eyes, taut and strong.

Below it hung the car itself.

Danny stared in dismay. "Okay, that's a problem," Anna said, stepping around him.

The car was frozen; its roof level with her knees. No lights were on. Anna tapped on the glass door - and jumped as, to their horror, they heard a muffled thump in reply. At the same time, someone started yelling.

"Help us! Are you there? Please, help us!"

Anna turned her dark-eyed gaze on Danny.

"We have to," she said, and her voice was desperate.

"Agreed." He cast about for something that they could use to pry the doors open, but the lobby was as empty as the room behind them. The only object in sight was a fire extinguisher, attached to a nearby wall. Danny frowned - and then grinned.

"Safety first," he said, as he wrenched it from the hook, favouring his good hand, and raised it behind him. "Stand back."

Anna skipped out of the way just in time. He slammed the heavy extinguisher into the glass once... twice... three times before the door gave a shiver and cracked like a frozen pond in springtime, sending shards and splinters of glass flying into the shaft. Most landed on the roof of the car but some also fell inside.

"Hey! Be careful," said an angry voice. "You're supposed to rescue us, not kill us."

Danny paused.

"That's gratitude," he muttered, winking at Anna. "Good job I'm a nice guy..."

He set the extinguisher down on the floor and crouched down, peeping through the gap into the darkness. The air in the car was stale and smelled of sweat. A pair of eyes stared up at him, as he took off one of his shoes and began to knock the jagged edges of glass from the bottom of the door, taking care not to cut himself or aim them at the people below. However tempting that might be...

"Do you _know_ how long we've been stuck in here?" Harrison Drew demanded, his cultured tone making him instantly recognisable.

"Do I look like the one who's in charge of this nightmare?" Danny replied.

"Can you get us out of here?" The second voice was younger and more uncertain. Harrison's assistant, at a guess. Danny squinted. He could just make out a shadowy outline hovering behind the archaeologist.

"Hope so," he offered, aiming his comment directly over Harrison's shoulder. "Think you can fit through this gap?"

"I'm sure I can," the assistant piped up eagerly. "If Mr. Drew pushes me. Then we could pull him up together."

"If you think that I'm letting you clamber all over me with your dirty, clod-hopping feet, Alfie..." Drew began. The assistant wilted, disappearing further into the shadows.

_We've got a fine one here,_ Danny thought to himself as he replaced his shoe.

Still, he couldn't just leave the man - even though it was obvious that Drew was going to be no help whatsoever.

"Move over. I'm comin' in," he told them, finally. Exchanging a wry glance with Anna, who crouched beside him, ready to do whatever she could to help, he stuck both legs through the gap, rolled over onto his stomach and dropped down blindly into the stifling car. The floor met him sooner than he had expected, and his landing was less than graceful. Harrison peered at him closely as he scrambled to his feet.

"Oh," he said. "It's you. I saw you at the party. You were with the scruffy young man, and the cop."

"Cop too," Danny answered briefly. The nearer he got to this man, the more he disliked him. Alfie, on the other hand, seemed pleasant enough, if a little spineless.

"You're a policeman?" he breathed, stepping out from behind his boss. "Oh, thank goodness."

_Yeah,_ Danny thought with a guilty sigh, _cos that's gonna be so helpful in this situation. I'll just pull my radio out of nowhere, and call for backup, shall I..?_ For the second time in less than an hour, he had used his job as a not-so-subtle power play - not usually his style - and now he had to accept the consequences. In spite of his sarcasm, he understood Alfie's relief and chose not to shatter his illusion. An authority figure could often be a comfort. Unless you happened to _be_ that figure...

"Danny! Are you okay down there?" Anna's anxious face peered through the gap, tinged with red. Drew gave a start and Alfie gasped out loud.

"Rough landing." Danny offered her a rueful grin. "Look out - I'm sending someone up. Think you can pull from your end?"

"I'm tougher than I look," she said, reaching out in readiness.

Danny turned to Alfie but, before he could say any more, Drew shook his head firmly. "Oh no you don't," he said. "This man is my employee. I go first."

"Really?" Danny's voice was laced with disgust.

"It's okay," Alfie told him hurriedly. "I don't mind."

Yep. Spineless. Danny shrugged.

"Your call," he said, and rounded on Harrison. "Ready?"

"Of course," the archaeologist scoffed.

Making a cradle with his hands was definitely out, so Danny swallowed his pride and knelt down on the floor of the car. He clenched his teeth, as Harrison stepped up onto his back. _Your Highness,_ he grumbled in the privacy of his own head.

The man was heavier than he looked, and wobbled awkwardly. Alfie reached out to steady him. Danny could only hope that the three of them would be able to lever Drew up through the gap, because he was making very little effort to help himself.

"Come _on_," he grunted. Sweat was pouring from his brow by now, and Harrison's heels had somehow managed to find every single bruise on his body.

Suddenly, with one last agonising push against his spine, the weight disappeared and he was free. Flopping over, he rolled onto his back for a moment and watched with fascination as a pair of thrashing legs disappeared out of sight above their heads.

One down. Or should that be up?

Anna's face reappeared. She, too, was sweating.

"Good job," Danny told her. "Alfie next."

"I think..," the assistant murmured nervously, taking in the current state of their battered saviour. "I think I could manage to climb up from your back if you were standing... Is that better?"

"Yes." Danny's reply was heartfelt. "Thank you." He took the offered hand and rose to his feet once more, giving Alfie a keen look. Okay. Not entirely spineless after all. _I should know by now,_ he told himself. _Never underestimate the shy ones..._

With surprising agility, Alfie hopped onto his back and reached upwards. Minutes later, he was at his boss's side once more.

Which left him. Stuck in the elevator car. All by himself, with broken fingers that had barely healed.

_Okay..._

Flaw in the plan.

Danny stared up at the gap and his heart sank.

How was he going to reach it?

Just at that moment, Alfie popped back into view. His upper body slithered through the elusive space. Behind him, Anna called to Danny. "Hold on tight!"

Alfie's overlong hair swung into his eyes, as he dangled downwards, waving his arms.

Danny sighed, realising that this was going to hurt.

He lifted both hands, letting Alfie grab them.

Pain was a fleeting price to pay for a rescue...

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sid found her sitting at her desk, with her cellphone clutched between her bone-white fingers. Her eyes were far away and the look on her face was ghostly.

"Stella...," he said in a soft voice; and then, more loudly, "Stella?"

"Oh!" She came back to herself with a start. The mask slipped into place and, as he had done many times before, Sid found himself admiring her strength of will.

Admiring it, but not deceived by it...

"Are you okay?" he asked her, moving closer.

Eyes full of shadows held his gaze for a moment.

"No," she admitted, at last. He nodded. Taking a chair, he placed it beside her and sat down, waiting. The file that he was carrying lay on his lap, forgotten.

"I just spoke to Don."

His heart stopped, briefly. Stella saw his reaction and hastened to reassure him.

"Oh! Oh, no... That is, we don't know..." She shook her head. "There's been some kind of explosion inside the tower. But that doesn't mean..." He had never known her to be lost for words like this. "I wish..." All of her pent-up frustration poured out suddenly, in a torrent. "I wish that I could be there, instead of here. I feel so useless. But what could I do? I'd only be in the way. Flack already has the FBI to deal with. The last thing he needs is me by his side as well, pushing him to send me into danger..." Self-knowledge made her laugh in the middle of her headlong speech. "It's better that I stay here, Sid, I know that..."

"Doesn't make it easy, though," he nodded. "Believe it or not, I do know how you feel. Sometimes it's hard, being here when the ones you care about are out there, on the front line."

"Really?" She stared at him, taken aback. "You feel that way?"

"Now and then," he admitted, smiling. "Of course, I'm not saying I want to pull a 'Hawkes'... I do love my job."

"Oh, Sid." She clasped his hand in silent friendship and then looked down at the file. "I'm sorry - you wanted to show me something?"

"I did?" For a moment, the change of subject threw him. Then he remembered. "I did!" It was hard to keep the triumph from his face. "I finally found the answer to a question that's been bothering me ever since I first saw Rudy Nash, and those strange marks on his body."

He opened the file - and Stella raised her eyebrows in surprise.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Are you sure?" Mac said to Adam.

In the end, the decision to move had been an easy one. Neither man felt like sitting in a lonely corridor for hours, wondering what had become of Danny and everyone else - not when there was a chance to find them.

"Yes. I'm sure. I can do this - trust me, boss. But how about you?"

"I'll manage," was the grim reply. "Just hold on tight."

"Like superglue." He offered up an encouraging smile, and then remembered that Mac couldn't see it. So, instead, he patted his shoulder with a tentative hand. "Up we get, then..."

"Adam. I'm blind. I'm not three years old. Lose the 'we'."

"Sorry, boss..." _Great start,_ he thought to himself, and bit his lip - another thing that Mac couldn't see.

It was going to be a long night.

Adam felt like a mother hen as he watched Mac clamber slowly to his feet. On several occasions, he reached out to help him, only to let his hand fall away at the last minute. Let the man do what he could.

Besides, standing upright was proving to be something of a challenge for himself as well, though he chose not to mention that fact to his boss. Why let Mac know that he was struggling too? What good would that do? _Need to know basis,_ Adam decided, even though his head was spinning in a manner that was reminiscent of the morning after his first frat party...

_Good times,_ his brain said, blurrily.

_Not so good,_ he thought a moment later, as the queasiness set in. Also familiar...

He clenched his teeth and focussed on something else.

Like the man who stood before him, swaying slightly, with a pale, clammy face and a nauseated look of his own.

"That gas was bad news." Adam gave a weary sigh, and stepped forwards, slipping his hand through the crook of Mac's elbow, just as he had in the shaft.

"Old news," Mac corrected him. His voice was quiet, but full of determination. "It's behind us, Adam. Forget about it. Look ahead. What do you see?"

He peered down the corridor, which was bland and uninspiring. Such an enormous building, and this was all it had to offer? Grey walls, and... "Doors," he told Mac. "Lots of doors. But they're all closed."

"Where does the corridor lead?"

"Hard to say. But I guess there ought to be stairs or an elevator somewhere, right? Can't have a floor with no way out. Which direction, boss?"

"Oh, no," Mac told him with a wry laugh. "This is your party, remember? You choose."

"Thanks a lot. No pressure, then," he said, echoing Danny's earlier remark. How long ago that seemed - the party room, and the challenge that began it all. "Um... how about left?" The strip seemed brighter in the opposite direction, and right now, Adam wasn't keen to trust the strip. Look where it had led them so far. Straight into the Shaft of Doom... Lovely.

"Left it is." Mac nodded. His eyes were closed, and his face was taut with pain. It wasn't hard to imagine the size of his headache right now.

_And I was feeling sorry for myself. _ Adam frowned.

He settled Mac's arm more firmly in his own, and started to guide him down the corridor, sticking to the centre as he kept a vigilant watch for whatever trap was waiting to befall them next.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: Early update! Morning instead of evening :) Next one will be Friday evening at the latest.**

**To my medically-minded Guest reviewer - thanks! Your review was amazing. And yes, I'm a bad, bad girl...**

**And to the Guest who really liked the scene with hurt Mac and Adam - wow! Thank you. That's such an encouraging comment. And I promise... new dangers in store...**

**As for the length of the chapters - I want more hours in the day! But they're growing...**

**Thank you to Lily Moonlight and 1917farmgirl.**

**And thank you to everyone who is reading, reviewing, favouriting and following this story!**

**Hope you enjoyed the update.**


	21. Chapter 21

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"You can tell a lot about a fellow's character by his way of eating jellybeans." (Ronald Reagan)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Twenty One**

Seeking Don, Jess found him just outside the bookstore, staring up at the armour-plated tower with a crease in the middle of his brow and a hostile look in his eyes.

"Bad?" she said.

"Worse," he replied. "Stella's frantic. Rowd's an ass. We're getting nowhere fast - and our guys are still stuck in there."

"That's positive thinking." Slyly, she pulled something out from behind her back and handed it to him.

"A chocolate muffin? I thought you ate that?"

"Pays to be prepared," she told him simply. "This is my emergency supply."

No more questions. Don took the muffin gratefully and wolfed it down in three bites. Jess grinned to herself.

"Better?"

"Much," he said, looking surprised.

"So, what's the plan? _Your_ plan, I mean, not Mr. FBI..."

She waited as Don brushed the crumbs from his fingers and stuffed the empty wrapper into his pocket. "Rowd's gone back to his little truck. He's on the hunt for Missy Yamada. I don't think he liked the fact that I trampled all over his interview. Said - and I'm quoting here - 'you think you've got such a good rapport with Bardon? Fine. He's all yours.'"

"Isn't that what you wanted? Bardon can make sense of the blueprints. They're here, by the way. Planning department just dropped them off."

Together, they turned back into the bookstore. A blast of warm air hit them as they stepped through the door. "Rowd's a snob. He thinks that an architect will prove to be more useful than some 'scruffy workman from a building site'. Again, his words."

"You think he's wrong," Jess said.

"Yes." Don frowned. "For one thing, no one knows where Yamada is. For another - Thorne paid Bardon to keep quiet. That means he has to have something we need. I'm working with the things we've got, not chasing shadows. Where are the blueprints?"

"Geography section." She gave another quiet smile. "It felt appropriate..."

"Good. Fetch Bardon. I'm gonna find a way into that monster's belly if it kills me. And Jess..."

"Mm?"

"Thanks," he told her, and she was pleased to see a gleam of fresh determination in his eyes.

"The power of chocolate," she said, as she left for the comic book section. "Works every time..."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Kinbaku," Stella said. "That's... unusual."

"It was your puzzle-box master who provided the key." Sid's face was eager, as he hastened to explain. "The moment I saw him... Well, he's Japanese, of course. I could tell that at once; which reminded me of a book I once read. For purely professional reasons," he added quickly, seeing the arch look that crossed her face. She relaxed, and smiled.

"I wasn't assuming that _this_ was one of your hobbies, Sid."

He glanced at her coyly as she skimmed through his report and studied the diagram which showed the very specific welts on Nash's body.

"Kinbaku," he repeated. "A Japanese style of... well, binding."

Stella shook her head. "So, what you're telling me is that Nash allowed himself to be tied up _voluntarily_?"

"Yes. It's an art form... of sorts..." Sid knew that Stella had seen more than her fair share of the darkness that life had to offer. It was his gentlemanly instinct that made him keep his explanation discreet.

"So, his partner - whoever that may be - waited until he was helpless and then simply sliced his brachial artery, removed the bonds and left him to die?"

"DNA tells us that it was a woman. And don't forget, she also moved the body. Which makes her strong. Or very determined."

"Determined and calculating. A dangerous combination." Stella's eyes flashed. "I'd like to meet this woman..."

Collecting his notes, Sid rose to his feet.

"I don't envy her if you do," he said.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

To all intents and purposes, Lindsay was helping Sheldon. All the same, she couldn't help stealing regular compulsive glances at Mori, who was working nearby. His focus was remarkable, as though he had entered a private world with invisible walls that blocked out everything around him. Able fingers drove his pen across the page at lightning speed, whilst his lips moved silently, testing the words as he wrote.

In any other situation, Lindsay knew that she would have been the same. She had always been proud of her concentration; the ability to lay her worries aside and do her work. But tonight was different. This wasn't just her job. This was Mac, who had welcomed her into his 'family' and taught her so much. Adam, whose expressive face brought happiness to every day.

And Danny. Her Danny. The man that she cared for... _No; tell the truth, _she thought. The man that she loved.

To begin with, she had tried to stay calm and professional. Do her job, and trust that the danger was only in her imagination. That the armoured tower was merely a stunt. But when Stella had told them about the explosion, a strange and crippling numbness had begun to set in. Now her mind was almost frozen, locked on an image that had haunted her for weeks. Danny, dropping into her arms from the back of a broken truck, with his shirt in tatters - and blood; so much blood... _"Lindsay..."_

"Lindsay."

"Oh! I'm sorry..." She forced a smile onto her face and turned to Hawkes, who had spoken. "Guess I was somewhere else."

"Of course you were," he said shrewdly. "Look, take a break if you like. I've got this covered, and I can babysit our friend over there - no problem."

His kindness almost made her want to cry, but she was stronger than that. She knew that he was worried too; could see it in his eyes, and the way he hunched his shoulders.

"No," she told him, with a smile that was genuine this time. "That's kind of you, Hawkes, but it helps to keep busy."

Sheldon nodded, just as Mori came up behind them, clutching his translation notes and Nash's secret book. Calm as he was, he looked wary of interrupting.

"I'm halfway through," he said. "But guys, there's something you need to know before I go any further."

Lindsay tried to read his face and failed. "What is it?" Sheldon asked.

"This isn't a journal, or a book of poetry. It's about a computer, okay? The one that's running security in Thorne Tower right now. Nash designed it, and his notes are all here. We're talking theories, design sketches... codes."

"Access codes?" Lindsay breathed.

"Pages full of them." Mori nodded. "Now, I'm no computer expert - I'm guessing you've got one or two of those here - but I'd say that's a pretty useful find."

Sheldon darted from the room. Lindsay knew that he had gone in search of Stella.

"Yes," she told Mori. Hope made her heart beat faster. "It is."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

At first, the two men walked along in peace, lost in their own thoughts. The air was close, and Mac felt sluggish, but he forced himself to try and stay alert, concentrating on the sound of his footsteps, and the subtle noises all around him that defined his new environment. Soon enough, however, Adam's nerves kicked in and he started talking. Mac didn't mind. The monologue was oddly comforting; one of several strong links to the world beyond the blackness. Adam's arm through his. The floor beneath his feet. And a voice that was doing its best to keep steady.

"What do you suppose is behind all these doors?" Mac could hear the subtle shift in Adam's tone as he turned his head from side to side. "Do you reckon they're locked - or should we take a look? I mean... me, of course. Should _I_ look? Or should we just keep going...? Okay, I know - keep going, because we don't want to end up in trouble again. Only... do you suppose that one of them might be a men's room...?"

Mac had to laugh at that.

"You're hoping that Thorne hasn't booby-trapped those as well," he commented.

Adam fell silent.

"Oh," he said at last. "Well, that would be cruel."

"As opposed to his other more charming ideas? Are you desperate?"

"I can wait," his companion muttered.

After that, Adam seemed to find it hard to pick up the thread of his conversation once more. Sensing the chill in his mood, Mac reached out with a question of his own; the first random thought that popped into his head.

"What made you enter this competition, Adam?"

The pause that followed made him fear that he had strayed onto a forbidden path.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he continued. "I was just..."

"It was a distraction," Adam said, all of a sudden.

And now Mac knew that he was heading somewhere Adam really didn't want him to go.

"I understand," he told the younger man gently.

"Do you...? Oh!"

At first, it seemed as though Adam had taken offence at his comment. But a sharp tug on his arm made him realise that they were halting. He swayed, and planted his feet more firmly. Balance was an issue, and it took more concentration than his aching head could muster. Without Adam's guidance, he would have fallen long ago.

"What is it?" he said.

"You won't believe it," Adam replied, and his tone was several shades lighter. "It's a kitchen."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It really was, Adam thought to himself, wide-eyed as he took in the scene before him. A little kitchen, not unlike the break room back at the lab. Complete with cupboards, refrigerator, sink and kettle; not to mention several tables surrounded by smart plastic chairs and topped off with bowls of... were those actually jellybeans?

The door stood wide-open, inviting them in.

Adam was far beyond tired, and he could feel Mac shaking in his careful grip. They needed a rest, and they needed it now. If the room blew up around them... Well, at least they wouldn't have to worry about their exhaustion any more.

_That's not humour,_ he scolded himself. That was delirium talking - which proved his point.

"Come on," he told his boss. "I'll get you a drink."

To his surprise, Mac didn't object. He steered him into the room. So far so good. No weird smells. No trapdoors dropping them through the floor just as they thought they had reached a haven. Only the same red light as always, pulsing slowly along the walls.

_I'm starting to hate the colour red,_ he thought, as he eased Mac into a chair.

"There's a table in front of you," he said. "And a bowl of sweets. I'm just going to check out the cupboards, okay, and the fridge. To your left. I won't be far, so don't worry."

Mac nodded slowly, propping his elbows on the table and letting his head drift into his hands.

With a shiver of concern, Adam watched him.

_Water,_ he thought, at last. He still had half a bottle in Arabella's bag, which he had been saving, even though they sorely needed it. Now he could top that up and they could still drink their fill. Since the gas, he felt dry inside, and cracked like clay after too much sun.

Hurrying over to the sink, he turned the tap, half-expecting nothing to happen. But for once, luck was with them. A stream of clear water rolled into the metal basin; one of the most beautiful sights that he had ever seen. Adam cupped his hands, filled them as far as he was able and then, before it all drained away, raised the drink to his lips.

It was amazing.

The water trickled down his aching throat like honey, soothing the pain. Tiny droplets ran down his chin, and onto his shirt, but he didn't care. He rubbed another palmful over his face, and smiled.

Quickly, he filled the bottle and stashed it back in the bag. A nearby cupboard yielded two plain white mugs, which he also filled. He set them on the counter as he began to explore the kitchen further. But there, he was disappointed. The fridge was empty, as were the rest of the cupboards. This was a lonely room, waiting to be loved.

_Be grateful for small gifts,_ Adam thought stoutly.

Rescuing the mugs from the side, he headed back to the table. On the way, a laminated notice fixed to a nearby wall caught his eye, and he took a little detour, calling out to let Mac know where he was heading.

The dim light made it hard to understand what he was looking at. He narrowed his eyes and leaned in further, almost brushing the notice with the tip of his nose.

"It's a floor plan..." he breathed.

Eagerly, he balanced the mugs together in one hand and ripped the notice from the wall.

"I can't believe it," he continued, scurrying over to Mac and depositing all of his goodies on the table. "Look at that... I mean, Mac! It's a plan. Of this whole floor, including the exits."

"Well done, Adam." Mac sounded hoarse, and he gave a slight cough. Adam guided his fingers until they were wrapped around one of the mug handles.

"Small sips," he advised. "Take your time, okay, boss? Drinking too quickly is bad for you."

Mac smiled.

"I'm stating the obvious, aren't I?" Adam's voice was rueful. He reached out and scooped a jellybean from the nearby bowl, tossing it into the air and catching it with his open mouth. An unconscious act, born of habit. "Mm - blueberry," he said with satisfaction.

"What is?"

Startled by his boss's change in tone, Adam stopped chewing.

"Jellybean..." he murmured slowly.

"Spit it out," Mac ordered. "Didn't your mother ever teach you not to take sweets from strangers?"

Adam spat, and the dark blue bean went rolling across the floor into the shadows. "No," he said in a tiny voice. "I'm sorry, okay? But surely...?"

"We can't be sure of anything in here." Mac shook his head. "You have to remember that, Adam. Even an innocent jellybean."

"I know. I know; it was dumb. I can't think why I did it..." He hunched his shoulders and shivered again.

"You're tired, that's all. So am I," Mac admitted. He leaned across to where he knew Adam was sitting and reached out a hand, seeking contact. Adam gripped it tightly with his own.

An echo of his own fear lurked in the tightness around Mac's eyes, and the set of his jaw.

Seeing that, Adam scrubbed the weariness from his face and tried to focus on the floor plan instead. "We're almost there," he said, with relief. "We chose the right direction, boss. That's a good thing. Two more rooms beyond this one, and then there's a stairway - a proper one, not just a... well, you know..." _No more shafts,_ he added silently.

Yet again, he rubbed his face, and giggled.

"What's funny?" Mac's voice was sharp.

Adam considered. "Nothing at all," he said, with mock-solemnity. "It's a not-funny situation... Sorry, boss. I'll be serious now, I promise..."

He rose to his feet, and the world dipped around him. Quickly, he sat down again.

The treacherous taste of blueberries filled his mouth.

_Uh-oh..._

What had he done?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: Oh, Adam!**

**Something for everyone here, and I hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for the reviews - I'm grateful for every single one, and they've been such a help to me. So have the incomparable 1917farmgirl and Lily Moonlight, as always.**

**Bet you wondered about the jellybean quote until you got to the end of the chapter...**

**In fact, I bet you're wondering about the jellybeans **_**right now**_**...**

**Next update will be Sunday night at the latest!**


	22. Chapter 22

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"We often get in quicker by the back door than by the front." (Napoleon Bonaparte)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Twenty Two**

"A learning computer?" Stella moved closer to the screen and stared at the scanned copy of Mori's first page of notes. Quick work, and surprisingly legible.

He nodded, arms folded. One hand pulled at his bottom lip thoughtfully before he spoke. "That's what Nash called it. He even had a name for it..." Creating another window on the screen, he showed them the original page next to its translation.

"What... Hal?" Sheldon murmured behind them.

Mori gave a low chuckle. "Not Hal. See this word here - Yūrei? That means 'Ghost'."

"Oh, wonderful." Stella shook her head in disbelief, just as Lindsay walked into the conference room with a tall, dark-haired lab tech by her side.

"I found him," she said. "Mr. Mori, this is Jake Graham, one of our 'computer experts', as you put it. You're translating the notebook; hopefully he can translate the code."

"Pleased to meet you," Jake said gravely, holding out his hand. Mori shook it firmly. The tall man was solemn, with heavy-lidded eyes. "Detective Bonasera, I'd be glad to help. Adam's my friend, and the others have always been good to me, especially Detective Taylor. Whatever I can do..."

"Thank you, Jake." At a nod from Stella, they spread out around the long table and took their seats. She glanced at them, one by one, weighing up their state of mind. Mori, trying to downplay his enthusiasm out of respect. Jake Graham, dark and silent. Hawkes, a study in nervous energy carefully controlled. And Lindsay, whose face was blank, but whose eyes revealed her soul.

_What can they see in me?_ Stella wondered. Now that they were moving forwards, she felt stronger and that gave her confidence. _You're a leader,_ she told herself firmly, smiling at her makeshift team. _So lead..._

"Our guest, Mr. Mori believes that Nash has left a valuable secret in his notebook - a way to access Thorne's security system."

"From the outside?" Jake said with interest.

"That's what I need you to determine. You'll be working with Lindsay and Mr. Mori. As soon as you've got something, however insignificant it may seem, I want to know. I don't suppose that we can simply raise the shutters and open the door - that's wishful thinking - but even the smallest foothold may make a difference. I'll be liaising with Detective Flack, who's on the scene. He has a somewhat... pro-active plan of his own and we might just be able to help him..."

"What kind of plan?" Lindsay's tone was eager.

Stella locked eyes with her colleague. They knew Don Flack, and they knew his loyal nature. Fierce as a lion, he fought for his friends.

"He's going to break the door down," she said simply.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"What do you mean, it's impossible?" Don said, anger swelling in his tone.

Bardon quailed before his unexpected temper.

"Just that," he said. "The front door is reinforced steel, incredibly dense, with locks and deadbolts all the way down. You'll never break through in a hurry. It was designed that way. Makes Rikers look like an 'open house'."

"'Never' really isn't a word I wanna hear right now," Flack warned. "And Rikers may well be your next stop, Lewis..." Seeing the look on Bardon's face, he relented slightly, and stared at the ground floor blueprint which was stretched out before them on a table, held down at each corner by a pile of City Guides. "Give me _something_ I can use."

The foreman ran a nervous hand through his wilting hair. Flack waited - not calmly, but quietly.

"There's one thing...," Bardon said at last. He stabbed his finger at the plan. "If you can get through the shutters. A back door, okay? Kind of a secret entrance, hidden away. That's a chance, right?" His face looked hopeful.

Flack's hand clapped him on the shoulder, and he jumped.

"Good job," the detective said. "Stick around, Lewis. I haven't finished with you yet. When we break in, you're coming with us..."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Danny leaned against the wall and nursed his aching hand. Five minutes - that was the length of time that he had allowed himself. Five minutes to learn the pain and teach it who was in control. _That would be me,_ he thought, with his teeth clenched, as he rode the wave that pulsed from the damaged bones beneath the splint.

"I hurt you, didn't I?" said a doleful voice.

He looked up, and there was Alfie Jakes, standing over him and looking penitent.

With a sigh, Danny clambered to his feet. Recess over.

"Already hurt," he explained, much to Alfie's relief. "A couple of scumbags did that - argument over a phone. Long story... This hasn't been my summer." _And that's an understatement._

"Okay." The assistant nodded. "Well - I'm sorry anyway."

"Hey, you pulled me out. Don't apologise. That's more than _some_ people were prepared to do." He frowned at the irritating sight of Harrison Drew, who had pinned Anna into a corner and was lecturing her on the finer points of survival. Danny couldn't help wondering how much was bluster, and how much was a downright lie. Even Alfie looked uncomfortable. Anna just looked sick.

_Get me out of here,_ her pleading eyes said to Danny.

He wandered across to them.

"What happened to everyone else?" he demanded. Pain and frustration made him disinclined to be polite. "The other guests. What did they do?"

Harrison turned, much to Anna's relief. Antipathy was plain upon his face. "This girl disappeared into the shadows with her friends. Clearly, you know something about that. The rest left in the elevator, a few at a time. As a gentleman, I waited. A chance to steel myself for the trials that lay ahead."

_A chance to stuff your face,_ Danny guessed. There were tell-tale foodstains on Drew's shirt, and his eyes were shifty.

At this point, Alfie broke in. It was almost as though he couldn't help himself. As though being useful was the only thing that gave him purpose in life. A kind man, who had been unlucky enough to attract a leech. "The elevator wasn't supposed to stop until it reached the lobby. But that loud man in the kilt - he did something to it. Messed with the wires... The others were egging him on. They want the money..." He paused, with a guilty look at Drew, who folded his arms and frowned.

"Okay. So they could be anywhere in the building right now?" Danny sighed. The situation was bad; no question about it. Once more, his thoughts strayed to Mac and Adam, but he dragged them back to the situation at hand. _Concentrate, Danny._ If he gave in to the panic that wormed through his gut, all would be lost.

"I guess." Alfie's reply was wary.

"Then what happened to you?"

"There was some kind of tremor. It rocked the car, and we got stuck between floors. We were heading for..." Once more, he fell silent. Drew was glaring by now.

"Look," Danny sighed. "I think this little game of Thorne's has gone seriously pear-shaped, okay? Keepin' secrets and wandering about the place on your own is guaranteed to get you into trouble. We need to stick together." _Even if that's the last thing any of us want, _he added silently.

"And go where, exactly?" Harrison demanded.

"Down - but I hope you like walking," Danny replied. "If we don't find the stairs, we're not gettin' off this floor."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mac felt sick to his stomach. Right now, however, Adam was worrying him more. He forced himself to focus.

"Are you all right?" he insisted.

There was an awkward silence. He knew how foolish Adam must be feeling. The lab tech wasn't a stupid man - he knew that very well. But sometimes, when people are at their most vulnerable, their brain plays tricks on them. Mac suspected that Adam had been suppressing far too many things for far too long, and this careless act of his was an unfortunate side-effect. At last, he replied in a voice that was high, and oddly breathless.

"I'm good, Mac. That's strange, right? I mean, my pulse is racing and I'm wired like I pulled an all-nighter, but I can keep going, boss, really; you don't need to worry..."

"Wired?" Mac said. The word was a warning signal.

"Okay, well, just imagine you drank, like, five cups of coffee in a row... Not that you would, necessarily, but I have, and you can take it from me, that's quite a kick..."

"I get the picture." Some kind of stimulant, then? The speed with which it had affected Adam was Mac's biggest concern. Thank goodness he hadn't ingested the whole jellybean. A quick high often led to a staggering low - and that could be desperate news for the two of them. A jerky, staccato noise caught his attention, echoing inside his head. "Adam. Stop drumming your fingers on the table and listen to me."

"Okay, boss..." Adam's voice was distracted, and Mac could feel the tension radiating from him as he jiggled in his seat, anxious to be doing something active, instead of sitting still. "Whatever you say, okay, 'cos you're the boss, and I'm just the lab rat, running around a maze..."

In a startling moment of clarity, Mac froze. _That's it,_ he thought. Even so, he could scarcely believe his own conclusion. "Adam," he said, "you're a genius."

"I am?" That led to silence again for a minute or two, as he pondered the statement. Mac could almost see his expression. Pride, mixed with total confusion. "Um, how's that, exactly?"

Mac's fingers massaged his temples as he took a steadying breath. Was it his imagination, or was he growing used to the pain in his head? It was so familiar by now, that it was almost a part of him - as was the slight tilt in his equilibrium whenever he moved. "Your paper," he said. "The one that you wrote for Thorne. Game theory and... security, wasn't it?"

"Yes..." Adam's voice was uncertain.

"Tell me about the strip of light." The question seemed random, he knew, but his brain was whirling like a snowstorm, and the pieces were all drifting silently into place. "Is it in the room now?"

"Of course. It's everywhere... oh!"

He was truly surprised by the speed with which Adam grasped his meaning. "You think it's studying us," the lab tech continued eagerly. "Like some kind of science experiment. Learning our reactions to each new situation. Artificial intelligence, made real. So - what? Thorne set up this party and the challenge as a way to teach his fancy new security system about human nature - and something went wrong? Good-bye safety protocols, hello destruction? Don't these people go to the movies?" He was gathering speed, and it made Mac's head whirl.

"I don't know..." The snowstorm had become a blizzard. Mac faltered. "Adam..." he said.

At once, two firm hands took hold of him. "I'm here, boss," said a kind voice in his ear. "It's okay... We're going to be okay... Just have a rest, all right? We can stay here a little bit longer."

Adam's optimism may have been flawed, but it was cheering. "Thank you," he sighed.

The hands moved away, and so did the warmth of Adam's presence. There was a thump on the table. Mac felt the vibration through his head, which was now lowered all the way onto his arms.

"Don't sleep," Adam warned him. "Just rest. I'm going to see what else is in Arabella's bag. You want me to describe it to you? That should keep you awake."

Mac had to admit that, this time, Adam's instincts were good. Sleep beckoned like a lonely spirit, but he fought against it. "Tell me," he muttered thickly. "What _does_ a lady keep in her bag these days...?"

"This lady?" Adam gave another breathy laugh. "I don't think she's a typical example. Okay - here we go. Bottle of water. Check. We knew that already. Chewing gum - we knew that too." He sounded a little sheepish. "Purse full of coins. A comb and some make-up. A mirror. A bottle of high-end perfume. So far, so useless..."

"Keep going," Mac advised.

"A couple of pens. A notebook. And last of all, some kind of old novel. Guess that's what's been banging into my leg... hey!"

The startled exclamation sliced through Mac's head and made him jump.

"What is it?" he said, in a tone that was more than usually gruff.

"Sorry, boss." Adam's voice dropped to a murmur. "Something fell out of the book. It startled me, that's all." Straining his ears to catch what the lab tech was saying, Mac also picked up a rustling sound. "It's an envelope, with photos inside." Pause. "A boy and a girl; looks like a pretty old picture. They're standing on a beach and they've got their arms around each other. Then there's a cat..."

"On the beach?"

"Oh - no. Sorry, boss. Separate photo. There's writing on the back of this one. It says... Shelley."

Silence.

"And that's it?" Mac prompted.

"That's it," Adam said wearily. "Guess I've been lugging this around for no reason, then. Arabella must be laughing at me, wherever she is right now. Do I have 'gullible' written across my forehead? 'Cos I'm starting to wonder..."

A series of small thuds meant that he was throwing everything back into the Port-all at high speed. Mac could feel the temper in his action. "What about the handkerchief?" he said. "And the water? So far, Arabella has done us proud. She was trying to help, Adam. If there's one thing I'm sure of, that's it. Keep the bag."

"What - so I can fix my make-up? Or cheer myself up with the cute little cat picture next time I feel low?" The sharp response was out of character, and it jarred.

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you." Mac lifted his head in a slow and careful motion, testing it gingerly. It seemed to be a little better. At least, he could manage if he didn't move too suddenly.

"Sorry, boss," Adam's response was hasty, but he meant it. "That was uncalled for. Guess I'm not exactly feeling myself right now. I'll keep the bag if you think it's a good idea. Are you...? Is it time to go?"

Mac would have nodded, but instead he settled for a grim smile. "Now or never. Time to go."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and to Lily Moonlight and 1917farmgirl for their sharp eyes. Also to Mahala, who made me smile!**

**The next chapter will be purely Mac and Adam (as some of you have requested).**

**Hope you enjoyed the update.**


	23. Chapter 23

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"Rather he consoled himself with the fact that, in the real world, when he looked closely into the darkness he might find the presence of a light, damaged and bruised, but a little light all the same." (Colum McCann)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: For those who requested it. A chapter of Adam and Mac.**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Twenty Three**

He kept his eyes on Mac as they stumbled down the corridor. Something was badly wrong with him; Adam was certain. _Worse than being blind?_ he thought; but the sickly cast to his face, and the weaving manner of his walk were tell-tale signs. Concussion? Or something worse?

If Mac collapsed right here and now, what on earth would he do?

As for himself, there were ants crawling over his skin. His heart was banging and he felt horribly on edge. Alert, but indescribably restless. It was all that he could do to keep from screaming out loud. The corridor was a crushing monster, swallowing him whole. He gripped Mac's arm with tight fingers. It must have been painful, but there was no complaint. Another bad sign.

"Last door," he said, with relief. Mac gave a murmur of assent and drew himself up taller, trying to take back control. "According to the plan, there are stairs beyond this room."

His statement was almost a question. Go on, or go back?

"Let's do this," Mac said grimly. Adam was relieved to hear the comprehension in his tone.

"Stay with me, boss," he said. _Please..._

He reached for the door handle. It seemed so innocent; shiny and round. The red strip watched him, pulsing steadily. "Haven't you seen enough?" he murmured, sick of its intrusive presence. Could it really be a computer that was trying to kill them? The idea was outrageous - a plot worthy of Asimov or Arthur C. Clarke. And if it was true, then who had set out the jellybeans in the kitchen? Or placed the gas inside the shaft? Somehow, he knew that their theory was still incomplete. There was more to this story than even they could guess.

The door swung open with surprising ease. No more stupid mistakes. Adam was determined to be suspicious of everything from now on, and utterly focussed, in spite of his jitters. He peered through, ready to describe the scene to Mac, who seemed to be listening as he leaned against the nearby wall, breathing heavily.

To Adam's surprise, the large room was stunning; a skilful exploration of black and white design. It belonged in a palace, not in a skyscraper. "Columns," he said, "fake ones, obviously. And a high ceiling, painted to look like a dark night sky, complete with constellations - accurate, I think. There's a bench running all along the nearest wall, and most of the floor is made up of square tiles, laid out like a chessboard, but bigger. There are numbers on them - roman numerals. One to six, scattered randomly, over and over again. Looks kind of familiar... The windows are dark, like before, and the rest of the walls are plain white in different textures, except for the red light and a scroll near the top. I can't quite read it... Some kind of verse. Maybe this room is for entertaining?"

"Numbers?" Mac said, picking up on the detail that struck him the most. "And a verse?"

"You think that's important?" Adam nodded. "Me too. Okay, boss, I'll see if I can read it - but I'll have to get closer. Come on. We don't want to get separated."

Carefully, he guided Mac through the open doorway and lowered him down onto the bench. The floor at their feet was a long white strip of marble. Its twin lay beyond the chequerboard section of the floor. Looking across, Adam spotted a plain white door and a clear sign above it. "That's it," he crowed. "The stairs are that way."

"Read the verse," Mac insisted.

Staring upwards, Adam obeyed.

"'The straight path leads to your downfall. The crooked path opens the way.' Okay, that can't be good..."

"Downfall," Mac muttered. "I don't like the sound of that."

"Crooked path it is, then," Adam said. Frowning deeply, he studied the tiles in front of them. "You know, if this is a game, then I'm pretty sure I recognise it..."

Mac inclined his head slightly, a sure and familiar sign that he was interested. Adam continued.

"You choose a place to start. The number tells you how many steps until your next choice of direction. Somehow, you have to cover the whole board without repeating the same step twice. It's tricky, boss..."

"Can you do it?"

"I can try," he said dubiously. "But I think I'd better plan our route first. I don't suppose that this version of the game has a reset button..."

Climbing up onto the bench, he thought for a moment and then took the notebook and a pen from Arabella's bag. As always, Mac had been right. The contents were proving their usefulness once again, and he should never have doubted their new friend's desire to help.

Casting his eyes across the chequered floor, he sketched out a detailed map of the squares and their corresponding numbers. Then he climbed down and settled himself comfortably on the floor, cross-legged. The stimulating effects of the jellybean were starting to wear off at last, and his brain felt clearer, if a little sluggish after its unexpected boost. Muttering to himself and scribbling furiously on page after page, he tried to find a solution to the problem - assuming that there was one. Had he guessed wrong? Was this a different kind of game after all? Uncertainty began to drag him down - until suddenly, with a few lucky strokes of the pen, he had it. A complete solution. Satisfaction filled him with unexpected delight.

Standing up, he turned to stare at Mac. How much time had passed since he lost himself in the numbers?

"Boss?" he murmured.

"Yes?" Mac's head jerked up from his chest, and he tried to focus. The fact that he was unable to do so appeared to bother him greatly - almost as though, for a moment, he had forgotten where he was and what had happened to him. A coldness crept through Adam and he leaned forwards, grasping hold of Mac's hand and squeezing it tightly.

"Follow me, okay?" he said. "And stay close. Do exactly as I say."

It felt so strange, giving orders to his boss. But Mac accepted his lead with a quiet trust that both frightened him and made him proud.

Together, they stepped onto the board. No going back now. Adam held Mac close to him and studied his notes. "Four steps," he said. "To the left. Ready?"

"Yes," Mac breathed. Adam could feel the warmth radiating from his body. _Help,_ he thought firmly. _If we do this, we can get out of here and find help..._

They set off across the squares; Adam keeping his instructions as specific as possible, and watching every shuffling movement of Mac's feet. Their progress was slow, but steady. Forward planning had undoubtedly been the key to navigating this board with success. His brain ached with the effort of concentrating on so many things at once - his boss, the board, his notes... The distance between two points was proving to be far longer than he could ever have expected - and certainly not a straight line. Now and then, he glanced at the door which was their ultimate goal. At the end of their struggle, would it really open? And if it didn't, what would they do then?

_Don't think about that,_ he told himself sharply. Focus was essential, but he was growing tired and oh! so afraid of losing his way.

"Adam," Mac said, unexpectedly. "How much further?"

He consulted his plan. "Three more turns and then we should be there," he said. Every time they stepped on a new square, black or white, he could feel a subtle click that marked their progress. He could only hope that there was no error in his calculations. If he had missed a square...

'Downfall' was such an ominous word.

As they reached the final number - one - and stepped off the board, he couldn't help holding his breath.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lost in a strange dark world of his own, Mac felt a vague and indefinable fear. But there was a strong pair of arms around his shoulder, and a kind voice nearby that kept him grounded and made him feel safe. The darkness couldn't overwhelm him completely. He wasn't alone.

Feeling Adam pause, he knew that they had come to the end of their crooked journey at last. So many changes of direction, one after another, had left him feeling dizzy. Now that the game was over, he let out a sigh.

"Did it work?" he asked. The words caught at his throat like burrs, but he managed to force them out. Very soon, he would have to ask Adam for some more water.

"Wait there, boss, and I'll tell you." Adam sounded hesitant, but hopeful. The arms slipped away and he was left in the middle of nowhere, swaying uncertainly. Only the sound of Adam's footsteps, receding, gave him any sense of direction in this unfamiliar space.

A sharp click and a cry of triumph made him smile.

"We did it, boss!" Adam scurried back towards him. "We got it right..."

_You did,_ Mac thought, trying to push the words out past his lips. But he was weary and they wouldn't come.

"This way," Adam continued, taking hold of him once again and guiding him out of the room. They passed through the doorway - he could feel the change in atmosphere as they stepped into the coolness of the stairwell - and, almost as though Adam could read his mind, he found himself being lowered onto a step for a moment of blessed relief.

Only then did Adam let out a gasp of dismay.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Oh..." There was a note of reluctance in Adam's voice, as though he regretted his slip, and could not bear to share the bad news, whatever it was. "It's nothing... Just - not quite what we'd expected."

Mac pushed past the ache in his head and forced himself to concentrate on the meaning behind Adam's words. "Don't be cryptic... I've had enough of puzzles for one night. What do you mean?"

"Okay - but... please remember that the floor plan said 'stairs'. It never said anything about direction."

"Adam..."

"Up," the lab tech sighed. "They only go up. Not down. That's a problem, right, boss?" He sounded bleak, and full of disappointment - in himself? Mac struggled to understand why.

"Not your fault," he insisted.

Adam sat down heavily on the step beside his boss. "But it is," he whispered, almost to himself. "I'm the one who can see. I should be able to get us out of here. I've let you down again..."

There was a dullness to his voice that confirmed Mac's worst fear. The effects of the stimulant were definitely wearing off. _Go carefully,_ he warned himself.

"Again?"

Adam fell silent - and Mac guessed that, once again, they had come around to the subject that was haunting him, and that he refused to share, out of - what, exactly? Fear? Embarrassment?

"The warehouse," he said, as understanding dawned. "Adam, you never let me down..."

"But I did," said the small voice beside him. "You don't know..."

Mac waited. Here in the darkness, trapped in a nightmare - how had that become the place where Adam felt safe to speak his mind? Life was full of surprising twists and turns.

"I gave them everything they asked for. The pass codes to the lab. The location of their guns and drugs. I wasn't strong enough. I betrayed you, Mac."

And suddenly he understood.

The look on Adam's face in the hospital, before he left for London. The silence. The way that he kept clenching his injured hand.

_I should have pushed him,_ Mac thought, full of guilt. _I should have made him talk._

But they were talking now. And, knowing Adam, there would never be another chance. For a garrulous man, he had an uncanny way of keeping silent when he wanted to.

_Like me..._

"Danny told me what they put you through - at least, the little he knew. They tortured you..." The word tasted bitter, sliding out of his mouth and hanging in the air between them, full of dreadful implications.

"I thought I was going to die." He had never heard Adam sound so wretched. It wasn't right. That such a bright young man should know such pain. "They said they'd kill me, boss..."

"Then you did the right thing." Mac's head was splitting, but he forced the words out. Now was not the time to fail. Whatever happened, he could set this one thing right at last.

He should have done it weeks ago.

"Your job was to stay alive," he said. "Not to give up your life for the sake of their drugs. I'm proud of what you did that day. You saved those cops..."

If he could only see Adam's face. Silence was so deceptive. Was he listening? Did he believe Mac's words?

"Danny..." Adam murmured.

"Danny is a trained cop. You're a lab tech. You never failed me, Adam - I failed you. I should never have left you alone there. For that, I'm sorry..."

He couldn't help the groan that followed. Pain was beginning to overwhelm him.

A warm hand reached out timidly and grasped his own. He felt the wrongness of the scars against his palm

"It'll be okay, boss," Adam said, and then - ever so quietly: "Thank you."

Two words that meant everything.

They spent some time in silence after that.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: I really hope that you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.**

**Thank you for the reviews! I'm overwhelmed by how many the story has received.**

**Thank you, also, to 1917farmgirl and Lily Moonlight, for all of your time and support.**

**Next update will be on Thursday evening.**


	24. Chapter 24

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"Opportunity does not knock, it presents itself when you beat down the door." (Kyle Chandler)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Twenty Four**

Compared to the television crew's dumpster on wheels, the FBI's mobile unit was a palace. Compared to the crime lab, it was disappointing. Flack wasn't really sure what he had expected - state of the art technology, dark suits and stony faces, maybe even a poster that said "Trust No One" - but the bland scene, little more than an office inside a van, was so far removed from the typical movie cliches that he only just managed to hold back a sigh.

"Detective?" Agent Rowd had taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. His tie was loose and his collar was unbuttoned. The informal style spoke of hard work and dedication - as it was carefully designed to do. Rowd was a man who understood visual cues and used them to his advantage. Behind him, their eyes fixed on a bank of small screens, were two other agents, neatly dressed; a man and a woman. They did not speak, but the restriction in their movements betrayed their nervousness. Stay under the radar. Don't attract attention.

Flack revised his opinion of the situation. Rowd was no fool; that much was clear. Nor was he a man who liked to be played. His rigid, self-important nature made him a dangerous ally. Wiser heads would opt for a subtle approach - but Flack had never been a subtle man.

"I have a plan," he said. "I thought you'd like to hear it."

"Indeed?" The agent raised his eyebrows, creasing his pale forehead.

"That's if I'm not interrupting your search for Missy Yamada?" Flack continued with an air of smooth politeness.

"She's in the wind. I have agents checking her usual haunts." Rowd's voice was mild, but the casual reference to his vast supply of manpower was a neat return stroke.

Flack lobbed it back with ease.

"I've found a way to get into the building."

There it was; the slight angry wince that betrayed the depth of Rowd's frustration. Flack had to admit, his self-control was impressive. "That's excellent work. Details?" A simple remark, but one that was meant to remind Flack exactly who was in charge here.

"Pincer movement," he replied, in the same short style. "Two back doors. One into the tower itself, and one into the security system. The crime lab found that last one. They're studying it right now." Grimly, he smiled. "They're very motivated."

"Then I hope you told them not to overstep their bounds," Rowd said. "Experimentation is all very well, but we can't have some random scientist pressing the wrong button at the wrong moment."

Flack bristled.

"These guys are good," he replied. "And they're not just scientists. They know all about working together. _Detective _Bonasera will call me, the moment they have something. In the meantime, we need to form an entry team and bust this back door wide open."

"As you say," Rowd nodded. "Myself, of course, and two of my agents."

"Plus me, and two of my guys." Flack's face was innocent once more. If Rowd had known him better, that would have given the agent plenty of cause for concern. "Oh - and Lewis Bardon."

"Lewis... wait, the _builder_? Have you lost your mind? He's a civilian."

"Who knows that tower inside out. Literally. It always helps to know where you're going - wouldn't you say? Getting lost is so embarrassing." Flack knew the infuriating effect of his easy grin. He flashed it now, his blue eyes gleaming.

Let Rowd tag along with his pet agents. Let him think he was in charge.

It didn't matter.

Flack had his own agenda.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Tell me you have something," Stella demanded.

"We have something." Lindsay looked eager. There was a fierce hope behind her steady gaze. "It's not much, in the grand scheme of things, but I think you're going to like it..."

Coming up behind the little group, which consisted of Lindsay, Jake Graham, Mori and Hawkes, Stella leaned over their shoulders and stared at the screen. A white face stared back at her, wide-eyed and innocent; a child with long pale hair and an eerie expression. "Who's that?"

"That," Mori said, "is Yūrei."

"The Ghost?" She frowned, and Jake hastened to explain.

"It's a digital image. A piece of graphic art. And, incidentally, a doorway to the whole security system. Watch this..."

He moved the cursor, but she held up her hand. "Wait."

They stared at her, non-plussed.

"Before we do this," she said, "is it safe? The idea of a learning computer - artificial intelligence? That's frightening. We're trying to break in, but could it turn around and do the same to us? There's a lot of sensitive information here at the lab. Promise me that you've taken precautions."

Jake nodded. "I thought of that. We're isolated here. The only open link is between the Ghost and this computer."

"Good work." At last, she smiled, and a shadow of Lindsay's hope began to spread across her face. "Then show me what you've got..."

"Okay." The tiny arrow slid across the screen and hovered on Yūrei's lips. So realistic was the image that Stella half-expected the girl to brush it away. "Ever heard of 'Easter Eggs'?

"I'm guessing you don't mean chocolate." Stella raised her eyebrows. "Yes, I have. Hidden caches of information, embedded secretly somewhere on the screen, or programmed to respond to a particular phrase or action. Microsoft have been using them for years."

Satisfied with her answer, Jake continued. "Well, this whole system works on a similar principle. The image of Yūrei is the way in. Nash describes it in his notebook and, luckily, it's also fairly logical. Watch." He clicked on the child's bottom lip and, at once, her face disappeared, to be replaced by a complex registry of headings. "The communication network for Thorne Tower."

"Communication?" Stella's breath caught in her throat, as her mind became a whirl of possibilities. "Can we control it from here? Hack in fully?"

"Unfortunately, most of it requires someone to be on site, in Thorne's control room. But there is one thing I can definitely access. Since the shields went down, the Ghost has severed all contact with the local cell phone tower." He paused, not for dramatic effect, but to make sure that Stella was with him. She was - and several steps ahead.

"You can reconnect?" she gasped.

"I can. At least, I'm pretty sure I can. I won't know for certain until I try."

_Oh God. _She could talk to Mac. She could find out if he was all right, and the others too. _Breathe, Stella..._

"Then do it," Hawkes urged. Beside him, Lindsay nodded. Her hands were clenched together tightly, her fingers bone-white with the pressure.

Do it. So easy to say.

_Impossible choices_, Stella thought. One of the burdens of being in charge. Instinct urged her to act right now; to let Jake open the way. Why, she could find out the truth about what was going on inside in a matter of seconds! And yet...

And yet, Don Flack was counting on her to keep her head. To remain objective. It was a struggle that both of them shared. How could she let him down?

_Dammit!_

With a heartfelt groan, she faced them all.

"Wait," she told them, biting back the words that she longed to say. "I have another call to make."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The sound of Mac's cell phone had always been a secret source of annoyance for Adam. So many great tones available, and the boss stuck with that one? Whenever he heard it, Adam had an almost irresistible urge to snatch it from him and reprogramme it with something far more appropriate. Like the theme from "The Good, the Bad and the Ugly." That would be so cool...

Right now, however, the ugly, generic tone was the most beautiful sound in the world.

"Boss," he urged. "Can you hear that?"

Mac was leaning against the wall, his knees drawn up to his chest, half-asleep. Uh-oh... when had that happened? Roused by Adam's words, he mumbled something incoherent that sounded suspiciously like: "Peyton... morning...?"

Feeling guilty that he had let his own thoughts wander for too long, Adam started to pat at Mac's tuxedo with a tentative motion that gradually grew more frantic. "Keep ringing," he begged. "Don't stop! Where are you?"

At last, holding his breath, he slipped his hand inside Mac's jacket and retrieved the phone from its hiding place.

"Hello?" he answered, not even stopping to see who was listed as the caller.

"Mac?" said a doubtful voice. "That you?"

For one brief moment, it felt as though Adam's heart had stopped beating. He was so surprised that he couldn't even speak.

"Mac," the voice insisted. "Come on, for pity's sake! Answer me. It's Don."

"Detective Flack..."

"Yeah... Ross? Is that you? Where's Mac?"

"He's... oh, he's here. He just... ah..."

"Ross." Flack's tone was barely on the good side of tolerant. "Cut to the chase. He okay?"

Afraid that Mac would hear him; afraid to let his boss know just how worried he was, Adam lowered his voice to a near-whisper. "No."

"No," Flack repeated grimly. "Okay. Put Danny on the phone."

"He's not here." The words were terrible to say. A cold, sick feeling woke up in Adam's gut, where it had been lying dormant.

There was a pause. He pictured Flack trying to absorb the little information that he had managed to gather so far.

"You okay?" the detective asked, and this time his tone was quite different. Reading between the lines was a skill that Flack had clearly mastered.

"Oh! Um, yes. I guess I'm fine." Surprised by the question, Adam gave his habitual reply.

"Can you tell me what happened? I'm right outside, and I'm on my way in. With the FBI," he added grimly.

Adam let out a nervous laugh, but managed to cut it short. The crippling effects of the jellybean seemed to have worn off, at any rate, and his head was finally clear. _Just imagine that you're reporting to Mac,_ he thought. Like any normal day at the crime lab. He took a deep breath and, in a speech that was remarkably concise and to the point for him, he filled Flack in on everything that had happened, from the moment that the three men had entered the building together. It was a highly improbable tale, and he would have given anything to see Flack's face as he listened. Keeping his voice low, Adam cupped one hand around his mouth and the phone as he went on to describe Mac's symptoms. Listing them out loud was frightening. Don's shocked silence on the other end made his heart sink even further.

"Who are you talking to?" said a voice behind him.

Adam jumped.

"Oh - boss!" he cried. "You're back."

"I went away?" Mac muttered blearily.

"That sounds like something I would say," Adam noted, as he passed the phone to its rightful owner. "Detective Flack," he whispered, by way of an explanation.

A look of pure relief spread across Mac's face and Adam couldn't help but think that perhaps their luck had finally begun to turn. "Don," he said. "Where are you?"

As Mac listened to the reply, Adam took the chance to observe him quietly. The hand that held the phone was shaking, though he tried to hide it.

"How much do you know?" Mac continued. Leaning against the wall, he gave a troubled frown. "I see. Look, Don, it's nothing. A blow to the head, that's all."

Once more, a pause, and a buzz of concern from the phone.

"Adam's with me," Mac said firmly, raising a flush of pride in the young man's cheeks. "We'll be fine. Just tell us what we need to do..."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

So many unexpected problems. Jess watched Don as he listened, first to Adam Ross and then to Mac, his phone wedged right against his ear so that he didn't miss a single word. The tell-tale play of emotion across his features, combined with his breathless comments, told her all that she needed to know.

Mac was hurt.

Danny was missing.

Adam was afraid, but holding on somehow.

And Marcus Thorne was totally insane.

"Here's what you do," Don said to Mac. "You find a safe place and you stay there, okay? No heroics. No more crazy stunts. I'm coming in and I promise, Mac, I'll find you. Danny too." There was a pause. "Of course he's alive. I know it. And so do you."

Ending the call on that firm note, he flipped his cell phone shut. Then he shared a glance with Jess that was so raw, it was almost unbearable to see. One naked moment of fear.

Seconds later, it was gone.

Turning back to his phone, the detective keyed in a new number. "Come on, Danny," he muttered. "Pick up..." She could hear the dial tone briefly, followed by an unmistakeable sound.

Danny's phone was engaged.

"No way," Don said in disbelief. Then, gradually, a grin spread from ear to ear and he looked at Jess, who knew exactly what he was thinking.

"Mac," they both carolled together.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: First of all - sorry for the slight delay. I needed to make a few adjustments before I posted this chapter. To the Guest who is anxiously waiting - I hope that you have some fingernails left!**

**Secondly - oh, wow! I cannot say 'thank you' enough to those people who reviewed the last chapter. Your comments blew me away. I loved writing it, I must admit, and to know that you enjoyed it that much makes me so happy!**

**Thank you to Lily Moonlight and 1917farmgirl, as always.**

**Hope you liked the chapter.**

**Next update will be on Saturday evening at the latest.**


	25. Chapter 25

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"We are all on the stairs, my friend; some of us are going down, some of us are going up!" (Mehmet Murat ildan)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Twenty Five**

Don and Jess were almost right in their assumption. It was Adam's eager voice, not Mac's, that Danny heard when he answered the phone. The others stared at him in shock as he gave a whoop of sheer delight and punched the air. "Yes! Adam, tell me you're both okay, buddy?"

He knew the lab tech well enough to sense the fear behind the pause. After all, he had seen it before, up close and personal. "Not so much," Adam admitted finally. "Mac's here with me, but he's injured, Danny. A blow to the head - and his eyes are... well, he's blind, okay? We need to get out of here, and quickly. Where are you?"

_He's blind._ The simple phrase was chilling. Danny longed to press for details, but he could tell that Adam was reluctant to say too much with Mac close by. His heart was in his throat as he continued. "Still on the same floor. Heading downwards, hopefully. You?"

"The floor below. We found some stairs..."

"Then you're one up on me - so to speak. Can you get down to the lobby?"

"Not really." Adam sighed. "Flack knows we're here, though. He's coming in. With the FBI..."

Danny let out a snort at that. He couldn't help it. _Looks like we all have our problems tonight._ "How on earth did he know we were in here?"

"Oh! I didn't ask." He could almost feel Adam tensing as he spoke. "It's not important, is it?"

"No." Injecting a measure of reassurance into his tone, Danny continued. "So - what's your plan?"

"Find a safe place, Flack said." Adam gave a wry laugh. Danny was glad to hear it. "Not sure if that's possible, but I'll try."

"Hang in there, buddy," he urged him softly. "You're doin' great."

"Bet you're really glad you crashed my party, Messer."

"Oh, you'll pay for this later, Adam Ross," he warned with mock-severity. "Look - can I speak to Mac?" The need to hear his voice was overwhelming.

There was a fumbling sound, as Adam passed over the phone. The next words filled Danny with indescribable relief.

"You're safe." Mac sounded weary.

"Yes, I am."

"The others...?"

Danny glanced across at Anna, who was standing nearby.

"Three of the guests are with me now," he said tactfully. No need to cause any further distress.

"That's good. Great job..." A note of confusion was creeping in, and a slowness that led to silence. The next moment, Adam was back.

"We'd better go now, Danny. You should get in touch with Flack."

"I know. But listen - you need me any time, buddy, I'm here. You call me. That's an order."

"I will. And Danny...?"

"Yes?"

"I'm glad you're okay."

"You too," he tried to say, but Adam had already disappeared.

For a long time, Danny was silent. Looking up at last, he saw that Harrison had also pulled out his cell phone. The archaeologist was in the middle of a secretive yet heated conversation. Beside him, Alfie noticed Danny staring and pulled an apologetic face. "Agent," he mouthed.

Oh, fantastic. Trapped in a life or death situation with a selfish glory-hound who was already angling for the publishing rights.

"You wanna call someone next?" he offered, holding the phone out to Anna. She did not appear to have one of her own - unusual, these days.

Her expression was carefully blank as she waved it away.

"Not really. No one to call."

He bit his lip. "Sorry."

Anna shook her head. "Don't apologise, Detective. You were being kind. That's a good thing." She, too, sent a look of disgust in Harrison Drew's direction. "I'm glad your friends are safe, by the way," she added.

Humbled by the generosity of her comment, Danny nodded. At the same time, he had already brought up Flack's number on speed-dial. The resulting contact was so quick, it startled him. Anna wandered away as he raised the phone back to his ear.

"Yo, detective," he said with false cheer, "how you doin'...?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Mac? Hey, Mac?"

The voice was insistent, like a fly buzzing in his ear. It sounded almost familiar. Mac tried to place it. There was an image in his mind... blue eyes... an anxious face... a crazy shirt... no, a tuxedo...

"Adam?" he said. The word was hard, but once he had said it out loud, the memories came far more easily. "What's going on?"

"You zoned out there for a little bit, I think. Look... I mean, boss, we really need to work out what we're going to do next, okay? Are you up for that?" Pause. "Do you need anything? I still have water..."

"Save it," Mac said, even though his throat was desert-dry. "Where's Peyton?"

"What?"

"Peyton. She was here before..." He stopped, and frowned. Wasn't she? The sense of her presence had been so strong. Mac shivered.

"She's gone now," Adam told him in a low and solemn voice. "Sorry, boss."

London. She was still in London. "My fault," Mac said firmly. "I was dreaming. You said something about water?"

"Yes, boss." Adam's tone was odd, but moments later there was a bottle in Mac's hand and he raised it to his lips with gratitude.

"Thank you," he said, after two or three sips. "We'll save the rest."

"Good idea," Adam murmured. There it was again; that strange and worrying edge to his words.

"Are you all right?"

A quiet sniff, poorly disguised by a cough.

"I'm fine. So, boss, what'll we do? You wanna stay here?" He sounded hopeful. Mac considered.

"What are the options?" he asked.

"Stay here. Go back. Go up." Adam kept the information simple. That wasn't like him. Mac began to feel quite concerned.

"Are you sure you're all right?"

Once more, Adam ducked the question. "I'm thinking stay here, okay? There was some kind of danger in that last room and, sure, we avoided it, but going back might be a step too far - no pun intended. And who knows where these stairs lead? Here, it's quiet and there's nothing that can hurt us... I hope..."

"But it's so dark. Shouldn't we try and find somewhere lighter?"

"No, boss," Adam told him softly. "I'm sorry. We're stuck in the dark for a little while longer."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Find the stairs. Meet me in the lobby." That had been Flack's firm instruction. Their conversation had been brief but to the point, and full of unspoken feeling. Typical guy talk. Danny grinned. He knew Flack all too well. The detective must have been freaking out down there, not knowing what was going on. And this Rowd sounded like a real pill.

Speaking of people whose social skills were less than admirable, Danny took a deep breath before rounding on Drew.

"Turns out there's a rescue team on its way right now. Cops and FBI. But this'll go a lot quicker if we use our heads. So, as soon as you've finished making your little business deal, I could do with some help. You too," he added, including the silent Alfie in his gaze. The young man nodded. Harrison frowned.

"Who put you in charge?" he demanded.

"Hey, if you really want to go your own way, that's fine with me," Danny told him between clenched teeth. "Or, you know, you could always rewrite the scene later for your work of fiction..."

Alfie sniggered, earning a furious glare from his boss as the CSI continued.

"Okay. Are we done with the macho thing? Because it really doesn't suit you. And right now, we'd be far better employed in... oh, I don't know... let's say, finding the stairs."

"You think they're here somewhere?" Drew said sullenly.

"I think they might be. It's logical - elevator and stairs close together, right?"

"So you're an architect now?" The comment was barely audible, a means of venting rather than a direct confrontation. Wisely, Danny chose to ignore it.

Anna was already lost in the shadows at the other end of the room. Preferring her company, he set off to join her. Just as he drew near, he heard her give a gasp of surprise.

"I think... Danny, look! I've found them." The pride in her voice made her seem oddly vulnerable.

"Well done," he told her, reaching her side. Sure enough, there in a recess, tucked out of sight, was a plain and unassuming door. Through a glass panel, strengthened by a wire grid, he could see their goal. A staircase. A proper one, this time, as far as he could tell. No creepy shaft, no metal walkways. Danny breathed a sigh of relief and reached for the handle.

"Wait," she said. "We should be careful."

He shook his head.

"I'm sick of careful. Time to get out of here."

All the same, the fingers of his good hand shook in the second before they made contact. Danny wasn't even aware that he had been holding his breath until he let it out in a sudden burst. What on earth had he expected, for pity's sake? An electric shock? Another explosion?

The door was locked.

Simply locked.

Funny to be so surprised at that...

Stepping back, he took a deep breath, before slamming his foot into the door with all the force that he could muster. _Now who's being macho?_ his brain observed wrily. Which meant that the sense of satisfaction when it flew open straight away was a guilty one...

Danny laughed at his own discomfort and turned to Anna.

"Come on," he joked. "Let's quit this crazy scene."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Stella's head was spinning.

Instinct drove her to the locker room and darkness, overwhelmed by the sudden need to be alone. To run and hide, and gasp until she clawed back some of the breath that had left her body. To catch her thoughts and gain control. Only then could she face the others and tell them what she knew.

In the safety of the shadows, where no one could see, she held herself tightly and rode out the fear as it blasted through her. The call from Don had been a shocking one.

Blind.

Mac was blind, and trapped in that crazy tower with no one to help him but Adam.

Finding that her fingers ached, she unwrapped her arms and prised them open, staring at the phone in her hand with a strange, disconnected expression.

_Poor Adam..._ she thought, obliquely.

Sinking to the bench, she took a few deep breaths and tried to think clearly. A blow to the head, Don had said. That could be dreadfully serious. Was Mac concussed? Was he bleeding? How could Adam help him?

How could she..?

This was a strange kind of nightmare and, more than ever, Stella wished that she could force her way into Thorne Tower and find her friends before something even worse occurred.

The worst thing of all was unimaginable.

As for Marcus Thorne himself, there was no doubt in her mind that he was a madman, whose wealth and ambition far outweighed his sense. Creating a death trap, right in the middle of the city, and endangering the lives of innocent people - not only Mac and the others, but all of his other guests as well? What on earth was he thinking? What kind of man, rich or poor, would do something like that? Something so ridiculously cruel and pointless?

Stella had begged Don to let her come down there, but he had been firm. "I'm sorry, Stell," he had said, and she had known by the regret in his voice that he meant it. She could also tell that someone else was standing behind him, as his words had been guarded. "I know you're worried for them. I am too. But trust me, okay? We'll get them out - all of them. I need you exactly where you are, co-ordinating things from your end. This computer 'back-door' of yours could be the breakthrough that makes all the difference. I'll keep in touch, okay? Every step of the way. Something you guys just made possible."

"Then let me call Mac and Adam. Or Danny? Please..."

"Not yet." Once again, his tone had been cagey. "Essential calls only, I'm afraid. That changes, I'll let you know. I promise."

Her reply had been little more than a useless mumble as Don had severed the connection, leaving her standing alone in the corridor, staring at nothing, with nothing to do - until the wildness of her thoughts had betrayed her and she had fled to the only private place that she could think of, bursting through the door and locking it behind her.

Only then had she been free to let the fear take over and run its course.

Now that it had done so, she felt cleaner. Tired and yet, at the same time, full of energy.

A few more deep breaths and she stood up once more, straightening her clothes in an unconscious gesture. Her lips were a determined line, and her eyes were fierce.

'Trust me', Don had said - and of course, she did.

Time to make their next move together. But first she had to speak with Hawkes and Lindsay.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After settling Mac into a more comfortable position, with the bag as a lumpy cushion, Adam couldn't resist peering upwards. The stairs were steep, and the air that flowed down from the shadows was cool, quite unlike the stifling atmosphere of the endless corridor. He closed his eyes and let it tickle his cheeks, enjoying the sensation.

They had chosen to stay put - which meant, of course, that the path which rose upwards and away from them was now a strong temptation...

_No,_ Adam thought crossly, sitting on the bottom step and forcing his mind to think of something else.

_**Not**__ scary movies,_ he told himself, even more crossly, five minutes later. The yawning space above him seemed to gape like the mouth of Hell. An image that wasn't helped by the red glow... or the dreadful bang that echoed down the stairs and made him jump to his feet in alarm.

Instinct made him reach out to Mac, who was also trying to rise in a very groggy fashion. Adam steadied him; the contact making him feel stronger.

"What was that?" Mac said hoarsely.

"Someone's there, I guess." Adam's mind was racing. Could it be...?

He picked up the Port-all and shouldered it once again. The time for indecision was over. Though neither man spoke their thought aloud, they both knew who it was that they were hoping to see.

Adam linked his arm through Mac's and began to steer him up the stairs.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: So many encouraging and helpful comments! Thank you - and please be assured that I take all of your thoughts, tips and suggestions seriously. I am amazed and delighted by the number of people who have taken the time to let me know what they think (and what they would like to see).**

**I am also grateful, as always, to 1917farmgirl and Lily Moonlight, who keep me going with their kind support and editing assistance.**

**Hope you liked the update. (Nice and early this time, to save the remaining fingernails of my anxious Guest.) Next one will be Monday night.**


	26. Chapter 26

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"It is not so much our friends' help that helps us, as the confidence of their help." (Epicurus)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Twenty Six**

_When this whole thing is over,_ Flack thought, craning his neck and glaring upwards, _I'm gonna take a little vacation. Somewhere quiet, where the buildings don't blot out the sky - and they don't fight back._

He loved this city - really he did; finding beauty where other folk only found endless confusion. Too big, too loud, too dirty... Maybe so. But how about the colour and variety; the wealth of cultures, each one adding its own unique flavour to the melting pot?

And Marcus Thorne had placed his godforsaken tower in the middle, like a ugly black stain. Like a stamp that said: 'Mine'. The more Flack stared, the more he came to realise how much he hated it. The building was a monster and it had swallowed his friends.

He dropped his eyes and gave his vest a final tug.

No more waiting.

He felt like a powder keg, full of suppressed energy and ready to blow at any moment if they didn't get moving soon. Beside him, he could tell that Agent Rowd felt the same way and, for the first time, he found himself almost empathising with the man.

Moving on to link eyes with Jess, who stood a little way off, Don caught the reassurance in her gaze, and the hidden concern. He knew her far too well to miss that. Like Stella, she longed to come with him, and he was sorry to leave them both behind. But - again, like Stella - he needed Jess on the outside; someone that he could trust. Someone strong. To her credit, she never questioned his decision, but simply took it for what it was - a declaration of his faith in her ability to guard his rear.

That thought made his lips quirk ever so slightly, as he paused to imagine the way that she would lightly twist it; and the look that would shine on her face as she spun it back with an even more playful remark...

_Focus, Don, _he told himself - but the bright thought lingered, giving him a new and unexpected sense of confidence. He ran his eyes around the rest of his team, connecting with each person in turn, as he had with Jess; a leader creating a vital link. Rowd, he noticed, did not do the same, but stared ahead grimly.

The entry team was small; a strange assortment. Lewis Bardon; a bundle of nerves in an ill-fitting bulletproof vest that clearly did not make him feel any safer. Two anonymous FBI agents; short-haired, stony-faced and clad in matching outfits with the ever-present yellow letters emblazoned on the back. Next to them, Flack's own choice; Officers Sean Roake and Maria Gianetti. Two of New York's finest. More importantly, two level heads who had already proven their worth in many a crisis. Two cops who knew and respected Mac Taylor and his team...

The final late addition to their group was Captain Robert Fordham, the 12th precinct's resident go-to guy for all things explosive. It was hard to see him clearly right now, as he was covered from head to toe in a padded suit that was old and rather scorched - a worrying sign? He hoped not. Through his visor, Fordham tipped the detective a cheerful wink. "Ready to go?" he asked, in muffled tones.

Flack turned back to Rowd. "Are we?"

"Yes," the agent said tersely. "No more waiting." Which echoed Flack's mood so neatly that he gave a friendly grin. Startled, Rowd matched it with a more subdued reflection.

And just like that, they were off. It was always the same on a mission like this; his heart pounding in his chest, blood singing in his ears, and the promise of action, long-awaited, driving him onwards. Adrenaline - a dangerous high. Keeping a cool head was essential. Better men than him had succumbed to rash or even fatal errors in the wild thrill of an incursion.

Conscious by now that the tower may be watching, they kept to the shadows as they skirted around the base and headed downwards into a gloomy passageway that dipped further and further below street level. High walls penned them in on one side; iron shutters slipped by on the other. Flack pulled out his flashlight and motioned for Gianetti to do the same. The beams stretched out ahead of them like cautious fingers, testing the way.

Which was how they discovered the heavy iron gate, sealed with a combination lock, that brought them to a reluctant halt.

Flack turned to Bardon and raised his eyebrows.

"Now what?" he said.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Once more, Sid had come in search of Stella, desperate for an update and unable to wait any longer. Entering the crime lab, he felt a sense of hushed expectancy, as though the very building held its breath. The lights were dim, and white-clad figures moved to and fro; intent upon their various tasks, but anxious all the same. As he passed each room, the silent workers raised their heads, dark-eyed and wondering. What did he know?

_Very little,_ Sid thought wearily. This day had been so very long already. When had his shift ended? He couldn't even remember.

Nearing Stella's office, he paused. She was there, but not alone. Straight-backed and elegant as always, she stood in the centre of the room with Sheldon and Lindsay before her.

Should he intrude?

Her lips were moving but her voice was low and he could not catch her words. Lindsay's shoulders, seen from behind, were tense, and Sheldon's face, in profile, wore a mask of tight control. Drawn in but unwilling to disturb them, Sid watched through the glass; a guilty voyeur, full of fear and sympathy.

Like a scene from a silent movie, every gesture spoke volumes. Stella's face was pale yet determined. Bad news, then, but not the very worst. He held his breath as a sharp cry burst from Lindsay and her hand flew to her mouth. Sheldon's arm reached out and grasped her firmly. _Always the rock, _Sid thought, noting the sudden tilt to his jaw, and the narrowing of his eyes.

Stella moved closer; creating a bond between the three of them with her proximity. Feeling strangely jealous, Sid yearned to be part of that group, and share in the comfort. So absorbed was he that, when they broke apart and headed for the door, he failed to react until it was far too late.

"Sid!" The way that Stella said his name was always warm. It made him feel better to hear it. Her smile was tired, but genuine. Behind her, for the first time, he saw Lindsay's face. Her eyes were red, yet all she showed was pleasure at the sight of him. Sheldon did too; and Sid felt a wave of relief at the ease with which he had been included.

"You have news," he said. It wasn't a question.

Stella gave a reluctant nod. Folding his arms, he composed his own face carefully and waited to hear what it was that she wished she did not have to tell him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Who would have thought that a single flight of stairs could be harder to climb than the tallest mountain?

Adam liked to think that he was an active man when the inclination took him but, secretly, he had to admit to himself that his strength was almost spent. Not to mention the fact that his physical needs were becoming rather urgent too.

This was a nightmare, in every sense of the word.

He had already pinched himself a couple of times to make sure that he wasn't dreaming. Now he had two bright red marks on his arm to prove just how real it was.

_It's okay for me,_ he thought stoutly. What were a few minor aches, a sore throat and a little discomfort compared to the pain and confusion that Mac must be feeling right now?

"How are you doing, boss?" he murmured, pausing once again to let the detective catch his breath. Looking back, he sighed. Halfway. Really? Only halfway...

"I'm fine," Mac said grimly - and yet, how could Adam believe him? There were dark stains on the handkerchief around his head that looked ghastly in the dim light, and his cheeks were pale. He tilted his neck, facing upwards out of instinct. "How much farther?"

"Not far now," Adam lied. "Keep going. You're doing great."

He had almost expected - no, hoped to see Danny bounding down the stairs in their direction. Part of him ached to pick up the phone again and call him, just to hear his voice. Or Stella. Or Lindsay. Or anyone... But the battery on Mac's phone was running dangerously low. What if he exhausted it for no other reason than a selfish need to chat?

Besides, Detective Flack was coming...

The hope was a powerful one, yet Adam was still afraid. Mac was anything but fine. What if time was running out?

What if they should have stayed put?

_I don't know what I'm doing,_ he thought frantically - and so he kept going. What choice did he have?

Step by painful step, he dragged Mac upwards to the next level, only to find that there was no door.

He gasped in horror. Then where had the noise come from?

Turning around, he saw that the stairs rose even higher; ten or twelve more steps that ended in shadow and the fickle promise of a way out. That, or nothing at all...

"Almost there," he breathed. Staying positive; that was the key.

"Okay." Mac clung to him like a child. And that, more than anything, terrified him.

_Hold on, Adam._

_Not far to go._

_And Detective Flack is coming..._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

If ever Don had a chance to feel justified in being smug, surely now was the time. Yet somehow, he resisted. It felt childish to celebrate small and petty triumphs when his friends were inside, fighting for their lives.

Bardon stepped back from the lock, as the gate swung open.

"Guess they haven't changed it. More fool them," he offered, with a guilty smile. Even Rowd looked impressed.

"Good job," Flack said. "And thank you." He knew how much this would cost the foreman and his family. Taking the moral high road could be an unappealing option - yet Bardon had chosen the right path in the end.

Flack only hoped that it wouldn't lead to something worse than the loss of his payoff from Thorne.

They filed through and continued on their way. "Two more," Bardon said to Flack, "and then the back door."

Sure enough, another metal gate rose before them; and another. Each time, they passed through with very little trouble. Bardon's head for numbers, it seemed, was impressive. When Flack made a passing comment to that effect, he shrugged. "I like math. Always have." But the light in his eyes betrayed his pleasure at the compliment.

At last, the gates were behind them and the beams of light picked out a dead end, complete with several large dumpsters and an enormous pile of flattened cardboard boxes, waiting to be recycled.

"It's kind of a service entrance," Bardon explained, seeing the looks that passed from one team member to another. "Guess that fancy front door's a little too grand when you're takin' out the trash... Thorne didn't want it to spoil the look of his tower, so he tucked it away in a corner, out of sight."

A corner was right. There was no way out of there but backwards. Not the ideal situation. Looking up, Flack scanned for cameras. None were in evidence - but, just to be sure, he pulled out his phone.

"Stell. You there?"

"I'm here," said a steady voice on the other end.

"Okay. You got any access to the external surveillance?"

There was a pause. He imagined the scene in the AV lab - the CSIs, so focussed, leaning over a screen and discussing the options that lay before them.

"Yes," she said at last, and Don gave a silent, mental cheer. "Internal sensors are out of our control, but we can shut the external cameras down. All of them. Make the tower blind..." Her choice of words was deliberate, giving them both a wicked sense of satisfaction.

"Do it," he told her.

"Now?"

"Now."

No way to tell if she had been successful. All Don could do was trust in the skill of Stella and her team. Shoving his phone away, with a promise to call her back the moment that they were inside, he gave Fordham the nod.

Time to blow this monster's guts wide open.

Without Bardon, finding the right spot would have been a tricky exercise in spatial mathematics, as they tried to work out which of the many shutters they needed to remove. With his help, they had no doubt. It took Fordham a matter of minutes to set up the C4 and program the timer, before joining the rest of the team behind a hasty, makeshift barrier of garbage dumpsters. Crouching between Flack and Rowd, he held up his hand and let his fingers drop in sequence; five... four... three.. two...

One.

It may have been a controlled explosion but it still took Flack's breath away. With his hands clamped firmly over his ears, he barely kept his balance. The dumpster in front of him rocked and slid a couple of inches, revealing the torn and twisted metal that, only seconds ago, had been a gleaming shutter. Fordham rubbed his gloved hands together in satisfaction and pulled off his visor, revealing a tanned face beneath a shock of salt and pepper hair.

"Textbook," he said with pride.

His face fell when he saw the door.

It was blackened and slightly dented from the blast, but otherwise unharmed. Flack shared a grim look with the captain.

"We're gonna need a bigger bomb...," he quipped.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: Now, I know what you're going to say - more Mac and Adam, please! But patience is always rewarded. For the sake of the story as a whole, I needed the rest of the team to progress a little further - but the next chapter will belong solely to our brave lab tech and his boss. (And don't think that I've forgotten Danny, either...)**

**The next update will be Wednesday evening. And for those people who want even more angst and drama - of **_**course**_** there is more to come... (mwahahaha)**

**Thank you for _all_ the reviews! And thank you, as always, to Lily and Farmgirl :)**


	27. Chapter 27

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"Despite all my rage**_

_**I am still just a rat in the cage."**_

_**(Billy Corgan)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Twenty Seven**

As Mac and Adam struggled up the last few steps, the heavy sound returned; a loud crash, followed by a series of smaller thumps, like a hailstorm chasing a thunderclap.

Someone was definitely in there. Listening to the echoes of destruction, however, Adam began to wonder if it was entirely wise to interrupt them.

Suddenly, the wall before them seemed to twitch. A crack of light broke through and there was an even louder crash, making both men jump.

"What was that?" Mac said. The light fell across his face; a silver slice that, for a moment, made him look quite eerie. Adam blinked, and pushed the thought away.

"I think we've found another door," he whispered.

"Is that good?" his boss returned.

A joke. Was that a joke? Adam gave a tiny smile and released just a little of the fear that he was clutching close to his heart.

"Not sure yet. Wait there, okay?"

Peeling Mac's fingers from his arm and propping him against the wall, he inched forwards and pressed his eye to the crack.

At first, he was dazzled. Too many hours trapped in dim red corridors and stairwells had made his eyes far too sensitive. His ears, on the other hand, were working perfectly and he frowned as he tried to make sense of what he was hearing.

The scuffling tread of erratic footsteps.

Angry muttering - and then, out of nowhere, a loud expletive followed by yet another crash, complete with staggered echoes that were almost on the verge of being familiar.

Adam made up his mind.

"Hello?" he called out.

Silence. Like the silence that comes when a predator catches the scent of its prey and freezes.

_Stop that,_ Adam told his imagination. He tried again.

"Hello?"

With a start, he drew back as a bright blue eye appeared in the crack and the light became shadow.

"Who's there?" the angry man said in a voice that was low and fierce.

"Adam. Adam Ross... and Detective Taylor. We were at the party..."

Once again, silence. The stranger pulled away and the light returned. Next moment, there was the sound of grunting and of something heavy being hauled across the floor.

"Adam...?" Mac said uncertainly. His hands reached out. Adam took one, squeezing it firmly.

"It's okay, boss," he whispered. "I think he's trying to let us in. There must be something in the way."

He was not prepared for what happened next.

In a smooth and powerful series of movements, the door swung open and a fist reached out, grabbing Adam by his jacket and yanking him into the room. His fingers were torn from Mac's grasp, and he gave a startled cry as his feet stumbled awkwardly on the random pile of books that covered the floor. The man, whose fury lent strength to his wiry frame, leaned in as he pinned Adam roughly against the nearby wall. His breath was hot and reeked of stale food.

Jeremy Carter.

The kilt-wearing, self-professed genius, who had piled his plate high from the banquet table.

A tiger of a man, who had seemed so rational before, and yet whose temper, when roused, was clearly a force to be reckoned with; wild and destructive.

Dr. Jekyll had turned into Mr. Hyde - and what could Adam do to calm him down?

From the corner of his eye, he saw Mac inching his way through the open door.

Did his boss understand what had happened?

"Please," Adam said in a loud voice. "Put me down, Mr. Carter, okay? I'm not your enemy..."

Mac's head tilted. So far, Carter had not noticed him. All of his attention was focussed on the man in his powerful grasp. His hand slid up to Adam's throat, and the lab tech squawked.

"This place is crazy," Carter hissed. There was a fury in his eyes that was almost akin to madness. "How can I trust you?"

Words were impossible. Adam opened his blue eyes wide and tried to look innocent. But the hand clamped around his neck, and the fear and the struggle of the last few hours were finally starting to take their toll. He could feel himself falling inwards and the sensation was a horrible, yawning one. A dark hole, waiting to swallow him. "Please..." he managed, at last, with the desperation of a drowning man.

Carter's face paled. Had he finally come to his senses? He pulled back his hand with an oath - just as Adam's legs also gave up and dropped him to the floor, where he fell on the pile of books in a painful heap. The last thing he remembered was the sound of Mac's voice.

"Adam...!"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

No reply. And suddenly Mac knew a moment of wild and terrible fear. He lifted his head and tried, by the sheer force of his will, to see through the dreadful blackness and confusion that was his whole world right now.

Danger was out there.

But so was Adam.

Adam, who had been his strength; a kind and faithful presence.

"What did you do?" he demanded, when all of his efforts had failed. "Tell me!"

Strange, how clarity came with fear. He could almost sense Carter shifting nearby, watching him silently. Was he preparing to strike..? Mac held up his fists in a hopeless gesture of readiness. His whole body was shaking with adrenaline. Any fight was bound to be a short one, given his current state, but that didn't mean he would give up easily.

"Detective. I'm sorry," a rough voice said - and now the man was by his side, reaching out; not to hit him but to steer him through the unseen rubble to his fallen friend. "I went too far. It's all my fault. Can't you... are you blind? What happened?"

"Too far?" Mac said in a dangerous tone, ignoring his questions.

"Kneel down. Right here." Carter stepped away and Mac crouched down. Sure enough, as his fingers explored the area in front of him, they soon connected with the thick and well-worn cloth that was Adam's tuxedo. An arm, Mac guessed, by the feel - and he worked his way up past the lapel to test the pulse at Adam's throat.

"He's not dead..." Carter offered hastily from the other side of the room, where he had retreated.

"You'd better hope not," Mac growled. The constant ache in his head seemed to roll sideways, making him dizzy, as he bent his cheek to catch the breath that slipped through Adam's parted lips. Breath and a pulse - both steady. Mac gave a thankful sigh and straightened up slowly before he, too, passed out.

Next moment, he heard a sound that made his heart leap. A harsh cough below him, and a swollen throat trying to speak.

"Sorry, boss..." Adam croaked.

Relief sank through him, washing away the adrenaline and dragging him down. His body was lead-heavy. Not since _that_ day - the worst day of his life - had he felt so exhausted.

And yet...

And yet he wasn't alone.

"No apologies," he breathed. "That's an order."

The ragged cough became a chuckle and a warm hand crept around his own.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They stayed like that for quite some time in weary silence. Adam's throat was aching and he felt no urge to speak. Instead, as he perched atop his own little hill of devastation in what had once been some kind of cosy bookroom, he split his gaze between Mac and Jeremy Carter, watching both with urgent interest. Now that the crisis had passed, Carter kept away from them both - ashamed or wholly disinterested? Adam couldn't tell. A cloud of anger still clung to him, but he was in control; releasing his emotion privately by kicking the scattered volumes around the floor and growling to himself like a caged beast.

Mac was more of a worry.

Whether by luck or design, the overhead light in the room was on. Which meant that, finally, Adam could take a good hard look at his boss.

He had spent enough time around Autopsy and Sid Hammerback to know the potential dangers of a head wound if it continued to bleed. Which was why he had tied the makeshift bandage with as much pressure on the gash as he could manage. Not ideal, he knew - but by some miracle, the bleeding did appear to have stopped, though the front of the handkerchief itself was stiff and dark, and Mac's snow-white shirt was a gory mess. Smears of red lingered at the edges of his face, where Adam had failed to wipe them away.

The bloodshot state of his unseeing eyes made the lab tech wince and he could tell by the way Mac held himself that he was nursing a monstrous headache. He was dizzy and faint, and nearing the limits of his endurance. Adam's brain taunted him with ugly possibilities. Mac, the indestructable ex-marine - his hero - was fading right before him.

Something snapped in Adam and he clambered to his feet.

"Get over here," he said to Jeremy Carter. His voice was hoarse, but strong enough to halt the other man's pacing. "I need your help. I think you owe me that much."

Carter nodded, slipping and sliding awkwardly through the rubble as he dodged the fallen shelves. Like a dog that knows it has done wrong, he waited in front of Adam, hanging his head, though his eyes still gleamed with a smouldering light that spoke of the turmoil within.

"You did this - right?" Adam croaked, sweeping his arm around the room.

"I did."

"Why? And how did you get here?"

"Why..." Carter paused, as though he wanted to explain but couldn't bring the words to pass his lips. "That's none of your business. As for how I got here - through a door, of course. Which locked behind me. I was trapped. So I started to tear my prison apart. That's when I found _your_ door. Where does that lead...?" he asked, in a sly tone that did not suit him.

"Nowhere useful." Adam shook his head. "We need to get out of here." He lowered his voice as he continued. "My boss won't last much longer. There's a rescue on the way, and I want to be there when they break in, okay, not just sitting around in some trap where they'll never be able to find us."

"Well, it looks like the only way out is yours," said Carter. "I'm not trying to be unhelpful," he added quickly. "That's just the truth. So you'll have to retrace your steps."

Unthinkable. Stubbornly, Adam turned and scanned the room. Carter followed his gaze.

Most of the shelves were down and the wide parquet floor was almost covered in a carpet of books. On the far wall, he could see the door that Carter had mentioned. Maybe they could try and unlock it somehow. But then, if Carter the genius had failed... _What makes me think that I know any better?_ Adam sighed.

"Why didn't you pull that shelf down?" he asked, pointing.

"It's fixed to the wall..." Carter's voice tailed off. The two men stared at one another.

"Really?" Adam said. "You didn't work that one out?"

"I was angry. Not at my best," Carter said defensively.

Talk about an understatement. Feeling rather sorry for him, Adam shrugged. "Okay - look at it this way," he offered, trying to reach out. "If you hadn't been angry and trashed the room... well, we'd never have noticed. Right?"

Carter frowned at him in surprise.

"Who are you?" he said sharply.

_Why?_ Adam thought. _Because I look scruffy and insignificant?_ "Oh," he said softly, "I'm just me. Adam Ross, a lab tech at the crime lab. He's the clever one - my boss, I mean." He stared down fondly at Mac, who was leaning against the wall... and listening to every word.

"Pull me up," Mac breathed. "I want... to help..."

Together, they hauled him to his feet. He swayed, and leaned against Adam, who braced himself, trying not to gasp as his body protested. New and unexpected bruises fought to make their presence known. He chose to ignore them. "Okay?" he whispered.

"Yes..."

They staggered across the room; Adam giving Mac a running commentary on where to step and what to avoid. "Here we are," he said at last. The few short yards had felt like a mile.

"What...?" Mac said.

"Bookshelf," Adam told him shortly. He, too, was out of breath. Words were precious and he spent them carefully. "Gothic novel section. Lovely."

"Very appropriate," Carter said, scowling.

The shelf was made of dark wood, put together with skill. _Custom made,_ Adam thought, running his hand down the side. It felt smooth and warm to the touch. He let his fingers travel lightly, checking for hidden switches or oddly-shaped knots in the wood. After everything that they had encountered, nothing would surprise him.

Or so he thought.

As Adam studied the wood, Carter cast his eyes over the titles on display. "'Tales of Mystery and Imagination'," he read out loud.

"Poe," Mac said quietly.

"'Dracula'. 'Frankenstein'..."

"Wait!" Adam cried.

A fever gripped him. Full of disbelief, he reached into the Port-all. When his hand came out again, it clutched Arabella's book. An old book. A classic volume, mottled with age and stitched together in a dark binding, printed with gilt letters that were still quite legible, though their lustre had faded long ago.

_'Frankenstein'..._

He showed it to Carter, who frowned. Suspicion gleamed in his eyes.

"Identical," he said, reaching out for the copy that sat on the shelf. Strong fingers tugged at the spine - and as the book slid out, they gasped. For there behind it, trailing through a hole in the back of the shelf, was a slender cord.

"Clumsy," Carter said. "Old-fashioned."

"But effective," Adam told him. Gears spun in the wall, followed by a loud click. The shelf swung towards them, and they leapt backwards, dragging Mac.

"Hey presto," the lab tech grinned. His smile faded altogether when he caught the look that lingered on Carter's face. Any trust that had built up between them was starting to unravel.

"Where did you get that?"

Ignoring the unfriendly question, Adam peered around the shelf that was now a door. "We've got another problem," he groaned.

Carter let go of Mac. Folding his arms, he kept silent. His eyes were narrow. Clearly, he was waiting to see what Adam did next.

_Fine,_ the lab tech thought. Angry-man could suit himself. Steering Mac carefully through the gap, he brought him to a narrow lobby, ending in...

"Another door," he murmured to his boss. "And this one has a coded lock. Letters, not numbers. How are we going to crack it?"

"Bag..."

Adam sighed. "No, I don't think that could be it. Too simple... and kind of unlikely... oh!" He flushed. "Sorry, Mac. Good thinking."

After all, if the book was a clue, what else had Arabella left for them?

_And how did she know?_ Adam thought.

He still held 'Frankenstein' in his hand. As he tipped it open, two pictures fluttered out and hit the floor.

The girl. The boy.

And the kitten.

What had Arabella written on the back?

His fingers trembled as he typed a single word into the lock. "Shelley," he said out loud, for Mac's benefit.

Nothing happened. Too easy?

Now his brain was racing, as he punched at the letters with gathering speed. 'Frankenstein'. (Worth a try.) 'Children'. 'Friends'. 'Summer'. 'Kitten'...

Click.

"You're kidding me," he groaned. What kind of twisted, murderous egomaniac would use 'kitten' as a pass code to what Adam could only hope was his apartment?

And did they really want to meet him..?

The door slid open.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: An early update - and an apology in advance. The next two weeks are going to be very busy. This means that some of my updates may take a little longer - three days instead of two (no more - I promise). To my eager Guest - I hope that your fingernails, limbs and nerves can stand it. Blame real life, not me! I'd love to sit and write all day...**

**Thank you for the reviews, especially those of you who have just joined the story! Glad you're enjoying it. I welcome all comments and opinions, as I'm in this to learn and get better, as well as to entertain. Please forgive any lapses in medical knowledge - I try to be accurate, and I do seek advice at every step, but I'm not an expert and therefore flaws may creep in. I hope that they don't spoil your enjoyment of the story if you are more medically-minded than I am.**

**Thank you, as always, to Lily Moonlight and Farmgirl, for 'watching over' my efforts...**

**Next update will be Saturday evening at the latest. If I can post it earlier, I will. **


	28. Chapter 28

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"Some say the world will end in fire;  
**__**Some say in ice.  
**__**From what I've tasted of desire  
**__**I hold with those who favour fire.  
**__**But if it had to perish twice,  
**__**I think I know enough of hate  
**__**To say that for destruction ice  
**__**Is also great  
**__**And would suffice."**_

_**(Robert Frost)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Twenty Eight**

Agent Rowd looked horrified at Flack's remark. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could launch into a stern lecture on the subject of structural integrity, Flack cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"I'm kidding," he explained patiently. "Did you never see 'Jaws'?" Turning around, he beckoned to Lewis Bardon, who was listening nearby. "You know this door, right? You've used it before?"

"All the time." Together, the three men peered through the twisted ribbons of steel, blown out in all directions like a weird and strangely compelling piece of modern art. Flack kept his expression light, but inside he was filled with sudden doubt. Scary to admit it, but maybe a second blast _was_ their only option. This door looked even heavier than the front entrance. How could Bardon have thought that it was an easy way in?

Yet the foreman was smiling.

"Another joke?" Rowd demanded, clearly unimpressed by their levity.

"No, sir." Bardon hastened to explain. "It's just that... see, the gate codes work on an individual basis, so all we had to do was learn 'em. But the back door codes are unique - one for every person who needs access to the building."

"Like the foreman who built it..." Understanding began to dawn in Flack's eyes.

"That's right."

"I don't see a keypad." Rowd still looked suspicious. He folded his arms.

"Don't need one. There's a microphone hidden up top somewhere. Not on the building itself, but on the alley wall. Kind of invisible, so no one knows it's there unless they're in on the secret." They squinted upwards as he pointed.

"Guess I'll just have to take your word for that," Flack sighed, shaking his head. _And I thought my eyesight was good..._

"What if the blast from the C4 damaged the microphone?" Fordham was standing behind them, with a vaguely guilty expression. "Or the door itself?"

"Then the stage is yours again." Flack shrugged. "Just try not to topple the whole tower. This isn't Jenga..."

Bardon cleared his throat and tilted his head back. His voice shook slightly as he spoke. "Identity: Bardon, Lewis Elmer. CF3-96820."

"Open sesame," Flack added, under his breath.

They waited. A cold night wind tore past them down the alleyway, bouncing off the end wall and curving back to strike them for a second time. Flack shivered.

"Nothing's happening," Rowd stated, unnecessarily. He glared at Bardon.

"Then it's damaged..." Fordham began - until a clear, inhuman voice spoke out above their heads.

"Clearance terminated. Access denied."

_Oh, that's a problem,_ Flack thought. Still reluctant to try another explosion until he had no other choice, he reached into his pocket and brought out his phone, in order to call Stella. Maybe she could help them.

But just before he keyed in the number, he caught sight of Bardon. Who was still smiling. Sheepishly, it was true - but there was a gleam in his eye that made Flack pause and tilt his head in curiosity. "What?"

"There's one more thing I can try..." he admitted.

Something about the way that he said it caused Flack to frown. "Something difficult?"

"Something illegal." Bardon shrugged. "That doesn't matter, right? 'Cos you guys are cops. And we need to get inside. You won't arrest me, will you...?"

"Tell us what it is." Rowd held on to his patience, but the strain was evident in his voice.

"I know another code." He pulled a face. "It isn't mine."

"Whose is it?" Flack demanded.

"Mr. Farraday. One of Thorne's high-up guys. See, I was working on the second floor one day. It was warm, okay, and the window was open. Farraday came to the back door..." His voice trailed off and he shrugged at Flack. "Like you said - I'm good with numbers..."

"Do it," Rowd said shortly. "No one here will arrest you for that."

"But don't you _ever_ stand behind me at the ATM," Flack warned him, grinning with relief.

Once more, Bardon stared upwards in the general direction of the hidden microphone. "Identity: Farraday, Robin Hillary."

"Hillary?" Flack mouthed. Glancing down, he saw that Bardon had his fingers crossed.

"MS1-80802," the foreman finished.

Silence. Even the wind had fled by now. The alleyway was still, except for the vague noise of shuffling feet that marked the presence of the agents and the officers behind them.

"Access granted," the artificial voice said suddenly - and the door swung open.

"You beauty!" Flack cried, stepping forwards. Rowd grabbed onto his sleeve and shook his head.

"Less haste..." he warned. "What did your man Mercer say? This place is booby-trapped. We should proceed with caution."

"Yes." Flack's face turned red. "Thanks." For a moment, there, he had been so relieved that the only thought in his head had been to dive straight through the doorway and tear the whole tower apart in a desperate search for Mac and the others. His sense of shame was so great that he did not even bother to correct Rowd's error out loud. _Messer, not Mercer,_ he thought. Danny Messer. Mac Taylor. And Adam Ross. Three good men. Not to mention the rest of the guests and the building staff who were also trapped inside. _Concentrate, Don,_ he thought grimly. One careless action could let everyone down. Worse than that; it could be fatal.

Rowd pulled out his flashlight and turned it on before motioning to Fordham; the only one on the team who was wearing a full protective suit.

"After you," he suggested.

Fordham grinned and rubbed his hands again.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I'm freezing." The whining voice of Harrison Drew floated down the stairs. Danny cringed. Thirteen levels, and he was already sick of the man. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. How could Alfie stand it?

"So tell me," he demanded, pausing to glare at the archaeologist. "These expeditions of yours. The ones that you write about. Dangerous, are they? Uncomfortable conditions?"

Only Alfie had the grace to look embarrassed.

"What are you suggesting?" Drew demanded. His cheeks were pale, and his sharp nose flared at the nostrils. Tendrils of cold air rose from his mouth as he spoke...

"Oh," Danny breathed, and the same mist trailed from his own lips, passing in front of his narrowed eyes. "That's not good..."

Anna shivered. Her peach skirt and jacket were made of a silken material that certainly wasn't designed for warmth. Danny himself, the gentleman, had donated his jacket to Maya, which left him with nothing but a thin shirt to protect his upper body. Well, that and a cummerbund. Fantastic. Alfie and Harrison Drew were far better off - especially Drew, with his tweed suit - but the air in the corridor was now alarmingly bitter. Danny's fingers brushed against the handrail and he jerked back in surprise. It was icy. When had that happened?

The change in temperature had been so subtle, in fact, that only Drew had noticed it at first. Now, however, it was descending rapidly. _Unlike us,_ he thought. He had a sudden terrifying image of four frozen statues perched on the stairs; their pale limbs rigid, their eyes wide and staring in fright as the final ragged whisper of breath left their bodies...

Surely Thorne wouldn't go that far?

"Come on," Danny urged them all. "We need to move faster."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"What _is_ that smell?" Roake gasped.

Walking in front of him, Flack raised a hand to cover his nose and mouth. He knew. He knew, and it made him feel sick to his stomach.

Burnt flesh. So wrong, and so disturbing that once you had experienced it, you never forgot. Flack clamped his jaw shut tightly, fighting against the violent waves of nausea.

Moments later, the beam from Rowd's flashlight picked up a shape in the distance, huddled on the floor and rocking slowly. Beside it, another form lay still.

"Who's there?" cried a high voice. Flack could hear the note of panic as the rocking stopped and the figure froze; his round face turned in their direction, his eyes dazzled by the light that was trained directly on him.

"Lower the beam," Fordham hissed, and Rowd obeyed. He, too, looked ill.

"FBI," he announced grimly.

"And NYPD," Flack added. "Who are you?" Yet, even as he asked, the answer to his question slipped into his brain like a whisper in his ear, and the niggle of familiarity became the fully known.

"I'm Mortimer," the man squeaked. "Doorman for Mr. Thorne. And this is... was..." His voice cut off, as he stared down at the still shape beside him. Now that the beam was low, Flack could see that Mortimer had draped his jacket sideways across the other man's face and torso.

Dead, then.

Flack stepped forward.

"No!" Mortimer's voice was sharp and frightened. "You can't come any further. And I can't... we can't..." A sob tore at his throat. "I can't get out."

"Why not?" Rowd asked, with more than his usual sensitivity.

"Security defense," the man intoned. "Level 5. I don't know how, or why, but somehow it's been activated."

Which sounded alarming enough to Flack, but didn't really explain their current situation.

"Why can't you get out?" he insisted, trying to sound patient, even though his heart was slamming against the inside of his chest like a warning drum.

"Fire," Mortimer breathed. He shook his head and resumed his rocking, clutching his knees with his mighty hands; a timid mouse trapped in the swollen body of a giant. "It could have been me..."

Giving up, Flack turned his flashlight back on and swept the beam along the ceiling, walls and floor between the two positions; Mortimer's and their own. Rowd did the same. As the beams crossed, the two men gasped and halted.

"There," Rowd muttered. "See?"

He did.

Two small holes in the wall, one on top of the other, dark and deceptively innocent. If you didn't know their purpose, you would simply walk past them - and that step would be your last, Flack guessed. A terrible death.

His poor opinion of Marcus Thorne sank even lower, and his disgust grew tenfold. He glared at Bardon, who shook his head violently. "I didn't know," the foreman gasped. "I swear..."

"Want me to go back?" Gianetti offered. "Half an hour, and I could have the equipment we need to get past here - and get this guy out."

A sensible plan. But Flack had heard the tremor in Ross's voice, and he was afraid that any more delays would be half an hour too long for Mac Taylor.

_No more waiting..._

He rounded on Fordham, his thoughts racing quickly towards a more clumsy, yet practical solution. "That suit of yours," he said. "It's flameproof - right?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You think Thorne lies in b-bed at night, d-dreaming this stuff up?" Danny grumbled to Anna.

Their constant jogging motion as they stumbled down the stairs was the only thing keeping him warm by now. He tried to stop his teeth from clashing painfully together with every step, but it was difficult. _I can get through a New York winter,_ Danny thought. _I can get through this._ If not, he would truly have lost the right to call Adam Ross a cupcake for hating the cold. As a matter of fact, if they made it out of this godforsaken death-trap alive, he would treat his friend to a two-man road-trip all the way to Arizona...

Sunshine...

Desert...

Nope. Not working. Still frozen stiff.

He slapped his arms against his chest as he ran. Two steps behind him, Anna looked pinched. She could not even spare the breath to reply. Her eyes were wide and she kept them trained on him, instead of the dizzying, downward path that they were following. The constant gaze made him feel rather uncomfortable, but he understood and so he bore it willingly.

Harrison Drew and Alfie were much further behind. For a moment, Danny wondered if they had stopped altogether - but then he heard the thump of heavy feet above him, and the echo of a harsh complaint, cut off by an angry reply.

Was the slave finally turning on his master?

"How far... to go?" Anna gasped.

"I lost count," Danny admitted, tossing the words back over his shoulder.

The next sound made him grab the handrail and drag himself to a full-stop as she squealed and slipped and fell, bumping slowly forwards down the stairs on her bottom to land at his feet.

"Ow!" she muttered ruefully, staring up at him. Her expression was one of total embarrassment. He reached down and pulled her up, kindly ignoring her confusion.

"You okay?"

"I th-think so..." Her dark eyes were huge. "C-could we rest for a minute? My legs just f-flew out from under me. I'm exhausted."

"Sure. We'll wait for the others." He sat down on the step and motioned for her to join him. The makeshift seat was icy; the cold stealing through to his skin. _Next time I go to a party, _he thought, _I'm wearing thermal underwear._

Pulling his phone from his pocket, he stared at it, deep in thought. Emergencies only, Flack had said. Keep the channels of communication clear.

Did freezing count as an emergency?

At this point, did he care?

Right now, there was only one voice that he wanted to hear. Acting quickly, before guilt changed his mind, Danny pressed his thumb down on the tiny face that smiled at him from the screen.

The reply was instant.

"Danny?" Lindsay's voice cried in his ear.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They stood back, watching in silence as Fordham edged forwards. _Motion sensors,_ Flack thought, holding his breath without even realising that he was doing so. _Bound to be._

Rowd's flashlight was trained on the two tiny holes. Flack and Gianetti kept their beams straight ahead, illuminating the way, and Mortimer's terrified face. His piggy eyes were narrowed in disbelief. Fordham kept on walking towards him, one careful step at a time.

The twin flames, when they finally erupted, were far smaller than Flack had expected - but if you weren't lucky enough to be wearing a fireproof padded suit... His throat grew tight, and he swallowed. Mortimer cried out in fear - but Fordham moved quickly; a shade drawn through a fiery gate into the underworld beyond.

Diving to the floor, he rolled over and over a couple of times, just to make sure that he was safe. The jets had vanished even more quickly than they had appeared, leaving nothing but an acrid tang and a smoky haze behind them. Fordham clambered to his feet and gave the waiting group a weary thumbs-up.

"Now what?" Roake asked, nervously.

"Now it's our turn," Flack said.

It took less than three minutes for Fordham to remove his suit; an action that he must have performed countless times in his career. Underneath, he wore a thin layer of casual clothing. Bending down, he rolled his helmet back down the corridor, well below the holes in the wall. He followed it up with the rest of the suit, one section at a time. Flack caught the pieces as they arrived. "Help me," he told Rowd, already starting to struggle into the lower section. Balance was hard, and he hopped around in an ungainly fashion as he forced first one leg, then the other, into the suit.

"You're taller than he is," Gianetti observed. "So am I," she added nervously.

"Then the flames will hit my chest, and yours too." He smacked at the padding with his fist, as Rowd buckled it up. "That area's well protected. We'll be fine."

His voice betrayed none of the fear that he was feeling. Pushing the helmet onto his head and lowering the visor, he knew a staggering moment of claustrophobia. Beads of sweat formed on his brow, and his jaw grew tight.

_Come on,_ he urged silently, forcing himself to step forwards. He could hear his own breath rasping in his ears, trapped behind the mask.

One step.

Two steps.

Speeding up, he edged along the corridor, trying not to think about what was about to happen.

Faster and faster he moved, until he was almost running.

And then the flames leapt out. Just as he had predicted, they clawed at his torso with their fiery fingers, seeking something that they could latch onto. Food for their endless hunger.

Flack dove past them to the floor. He landed with a _thump_ that knocked the breath from his body and left him writhing.

"Helmet!" he gasped. "Off..."

He tried to snatch it from his head, but Fordham was already there. "Well done," the captain murmured. "You're home free. You did it." Two strong arms helped Flack to sit up. He stared back down the corridor at the white-faced group, still waiting to make the same journey.

"Piece of cake..." he croaked, as soon as he was able.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: I know, I know! Mac and Adam, right? Next chapter - I promise!**

**Thanks for reviewing, as always, and to Farmgirl and Lily for their continued support and advice.**

**Hope you enjoyed this update!**

**PS - if you wanted to eavesdrop on the conversation between Danny and Lindsay - don't worry! More soon...**


	29. Chapter 29

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"... and the next moment all of them were filled with wonder. For they saw, standing in just the spot the screen had hidden, a little old man, with a bald head and a wrinkled face, who seemed to be as much surprised as they were." (L. Frank Baum)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Twenty Nine**

Adam walked through the doorway.

Around his shoulder, he still carried the Port-all. Mac leaned against him, silent now, a worrying burden. Jeremy Carter followed like a storm cloud at his back, full of dark thoughts and ominous intent.

The first thing that he noticed was the change in light. No prying red strip invaded this place. It halted at the door, as though afraid to pass the threshold into the plain white corridor beyond. They had reached Thorne's sanctuary.

Adam wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

His eyes darted here and there, seeking traps in every shadow. Would he ever be able to walk through a building again without feeling the vague sense of unease that plagued him now like a growing sickness?

"You okay?" he whispered to his boss.

"Need to rest..." Mac breathed. Adam stole a look at his face. It was ashen and his eyes were slightly out of focus.

"Very soon," he promised, hoping that his words were not a lie.

Next moment, his jaw dropped and he halted in his tracks, causing Mac to stumble and Carter to curse behind him. A tall and familiar figure had stepped into view. The sight was so unexpected that he had to blink several times before he could convince himself that what he saw was real. And yet...

And yet, why should he be surprised?

"Please tell me you're not Thorne," he groaned, half-jesting, half in earnest.

"Wouldn't that be something?" Arabella Kazinsky said, holding out her arm. "I'll have my bag back now, if I may."

Stubbornly, Adam stayed rooted to the spot. His mind was reeling as he tried to understand. "Okay - but what are you doing here?"

She stepped forward - and frowned as she took in, first Mac, and then Jeremy Carter who was still lurking behind them.

"My question first," she said sharply. "What happened?"

"Are you kidding?" Adam shook his head in disbelief. "Don't you know?"

Arabella was at his side by now, slipping one shoulder under Mac's arm to share the weight with Adam. In spite of his shock, he was grateful for the assistance.

"She knows. Look at her face," Carter growled in a low voice that was meant to be overheard. "Thorne's tower fights back," he added loudly, adding a scowl for emphasis. "The man's a killer."

Startled by his words, Adam had little time to dwell on them, as they hurried along together, dragging Mac with them. Ahead, the corridor opened out into a vast living space that was modern, harsh and far too sterile for his humble taste.

"Over there," Arabella suggested. "On the couch."

The couch? All he could see was a collection of solid-looking leather blocks, black and white in turn. But that appeared to be their destination; and where else could they settle Mac in such a barren room? Removing her shawl, Arabella rolled it into a cushion and placed it on the seat. "A pillow," she said, apologetically. "I'll find you a better one in a minute, but this'll do for now."

They lowered Mac into a sitting position and then helped him to swing his legs around. He groaned as they tipped him backwards, but he seemed relieved to be lying down at last. Adam dropped the Port-all to the floor and knelt beside the couch. "Help us," he demanded. "We have to get out of here."

"I'm so sorry," was all the woman could say in return. Her voice was full of guilt.

Glaring up at Arabella, his gaze slipped past her, drawn by a sudden movement. Two more figures stood in a doorway on the opposite side of the room. One was a middle-aged oriental woman, striking in a black dress that was simple, yet stylishly cut. Her hair was long and unadorned. The only hint of colour about her was the crimson of her full lips. Something in the glint of her eyes made Adam nervous.

Beside her stood Marcus Thorne.

And Adam knew him.

Not the glowering face from the backcloth, but the fussy little pianist. The man who had played with such cold and mechanical skill at the party upstairs was the lord of all they surveyed. "No!" he cried, staring at the intruders. "This isn't right. You shouldn't be here..."

"That's not funny!" Full of horror, Adam took a deep breath, ready to leap to his feet after all and confront the man who had put them in such terrible danger and who didn't seem to care. But Jeremy Carter was quicker. He tore across the room, releasing his ill-restrained fury like a wild beast from a cage. Diving on Thorne, he bore him to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs and swirling tartan. The little man shrieked in fear; a terrible sound. His companion hesitated for a moment and then reached out to claw at Carter's arm, trying to pull him back up whilst dodging his flailing limbs. Arabella ran to help her, beckoning for Adam to follow.

He scrambled upwards, following his first and kindest instinct - until a dreadful sense of indecision took him and he paused.

Why help?

Why protect the man who had done them such harm? Who had hurt Mac...?

He stared down at his boss, who was struggling to rise from the couch; to act, even though he could not see the fight for himself. And there was his answer, plain and simple.

"Because it's the right thing to do," he whispered.

Pushing Mac down with a gentle hand, he leapt into the fray.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Confusion.

Voices all around him, echoing, and a sense of empty space.

The pain was swelling in his head, crushing his thoughts until they bled together...

The only other constant now was Adam. Who had left his side... Why _was_ that? A moment ago, he had known - had tried to move. But right now his mind was blank, and that was terrible. To lose himself; his thoughts and all his memories... _I'd rather be blind forever..._

He could hear sounds of a struggle. A disconnected jumble of words. Frowning, he tried to make sense of them.

"Murderer!"

"Get your hands off..."

"Help... ow!"

"Carter, stop it. He's not worth it."

Beneath the words, Mac heard the ugly sound of flesh and bone connecting, mingled with grunts and cries of pain. Some of those, he could swear, belonged to Adam.

He lifted his head, remembering why he had tried to rise before, and desperate to help. But how?

As the darkness spun around him and his stomach heaved, he heard a yell from Carter, a final crash - and silence.

Followed moments later by the sound of angry footsteps bolting from the room.

A door slammed, and a heavy piece of furniture was dragged across it.

"Boss..." said Adam, breathless and far closer than he had expected. "It's okay. Lie down. It's fine... We stopped the fight."

Reluctantly, he obeyed. "What...? Adam. Are you hurt?"

A short laugh, humourless and quite unlike the lab tech's usual manner.

"I've been better. So have you." With a deft touch that did not go unnoticed, Adam changed the subject, slipping into a whisper. "Boss, what now?"

_Sleep,_ begged the weary voice inside his aching head. Mac fought against it. Maybe they were safe here - maybe not. At the very least, someone should know exactly where they were. Someone who, with any luck, was already on their way. "Don. Call Don..."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Adam reached his good hand into Mac's pocket for the cell phone. He pulled it out and jabbed at the keys with his thumb, bringing up Detective Flack's number with no trouble at all. But when he tried to call it...

"There's no signal in here," he groaned, raising his arm and pointing the phone in every possible direction as he tried to increase the number of bars from zero to three... two... any reception at all. "That's just crazy."

Arabella watched Adam's efforts with a look of pity. She left Thorne, whose swollen face and bloody nose were being tended to by his female companion, and came over to the couch, squatting down beside him and laying a firm hand on his arm. He winced, as she caught yet another fresh bruise. His body was full of them by now, like a patchwork quilt, and there was a bone-deep ache across his cheek where Carter's fist had caught him during the struggle. Not to mention a stinging sensation in the knuckles of his already-injured hand. _Some day I really should learn how to throw a proper punch, _he thought, as he stared at Arabella in disgust.

"The whole apartment is shielded," she told him. "Phone-proof, fire-proof, bomb-proof..." Her eyes were full of meaning. Tucked away in here, they were still too close to have missed the tremors caused by the explosion. "Nothing gets through these walls."

"Of course it doesn't. That's just great. How nice for you." His voice rose to a squeak, just as it always did when he was worked up or frustrated. He forced it back down to a manlier pitch. "Perhaps you'd like to tell us what's going on. I think we've earned it..." Shoving the Port-all across the floor towards her, he continued. "I don't want this any more. You're right."

A flush of embarrassment spread across her face. "I don't blame you," she muttered. "And please believe me when I say that none of this was my idea." Her sharp eyes could not meet his own, but somehow Adam knew that she was sincere.

"So... what? Thorne's your son?"

The look of sheer dismay was almost laughable, under the circumstances.

"Brother?" he amended, quickly. "Oh! That was you? In the photograph, standing together."

"In Cyprus." She nodded. "Happiest summer of my life. I keep that picture to remind me how things used to be."

"Lovely." Sarcasm was creeping in. Adam had never felt so angry. "Happy families, then. And the kitten? What, was that your favourite pet? You and Thorne are in this together. You're crazy, the pair of you. Look what you did..." He gestured to Mac. Arabella grew pale.

"No one was meant to get hurt," she insisted. "I told Marcus this was wrong. Using people as guinea pigs... That's why I came." Her voice became bitter; self-pitying. "I should have stayed away. He played his game, and I played mine. I tried to stop you all - don't you remember?"

"And when that didn't work... you thought that a _bag_ would solve everything?"

Arabella lowered her voice, casting a backwards glance at her brother, who was studiously ignoring them, as though they had no right to be there whatsoever.

"The challenge was a con," she whispered. "No one could possibly win it. I wanted to change the odds. Marcus set up this whole thing as a study in human behaviour. To teach his damned computer. It's the only thing he cares about, these days. He's terrified of the outside world. Thinks this building, and that artificial monster will protect him."

"By murdering anyone who tries to get anywhere near him?" Adam's eyes were cold with fury. "Carter was right."

"Safety protocols," Arabella breathed. "He said the safety protocols were on..."

"He lied," Adam told her.

She shook her head, troubled. "I don't know... I can't believe he'd go that far..."

"You weren't out there. It's like some kind of bad disaster movie, okay? Maybe the computer set his death traps in motion, but he was the one who installed them. He's culpable, Arabella. You need to know that. And if you're part of this in any way, you're culpable too."

"I gave you the pass code," she insisted. "And the book. I hoped..."

"You hoped we'd get through?" he said bitterly. "Well, we did. And what now? He doesn't look happy to see us."

Arabella fell silent. Rising to her feet, she stepped back slowly. Her confident manner had fallen away completely, leaving nothing but fear and uncertainty.

"You cheated!" Thorne's horrified exclamation drew Adam's attention. He, too, scrambled to his feet as the man slipped down from his seat, pushing his companion away. "Bella - what did you do? Young man, I can promise you this. You're not getting a dime!"

"The money?" Adam was almost hysterical by now. "You think... you think that's what I care about? Get us out of here! Right now! My boss needs a hospital. Don't you understand? You're hurting people!"

"Not me," Thorne said, with heartless pride. "Yūrei. She's alive at last..."

It took every ounce of mental strength that Adam possessed to keep him from hurling himself at the man, just as Carter had done.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: To continue the meal analogy, we've reached the dessert course! Time to solve all the puzzles. Thank you for sticking with me this far, and thanks for all the encouragement. Particular thanks, as always, to farmgirl and Lily.**

**I'm not sure exactly when the next update will be. This week is insanely busy! Please bear with me and rest assured that as soon as I can post, I will!**


	30. Chapter 30

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"The bird a nest, the spider a web, man friendship." (William Blake)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**CHAPTER THIRTY**

"Danny!"

When the phone had buzzed in Lindsay's pocket, she had snatched it out at once, stunned beyond belief to see that what she had hoped for was in fact reality. Beside her, Stella's eyes had grown wide with hope and excitement.

Lindsay grabbed at her colleague's arm for support as she waited to hear the voice that meant so much to her.

"Montana. How you doin'...?"

"Freaking out, of course. Where are you, Danny? Are you okay? Who's with you...?" _Mac. Say Mac. And Adam..._ she thought.

His reply, when it came, sounded strange. A little shaky, and with hardly any sign of his usual bravado. There was urgent meaning behind his carefully chosen words, and she struggled to understand him. Clearly, someone else was nearby. Someone that he didn't want to frighten with the truth - whatever that was.

"Sure, I'm okay. A little cold, is all. I'm on the s-stairs, heading down to the ground floor. Th-three of the party guests are with me." He paused and then continued, as though he could read her thoughts. "Mac and Adam - they're not here. I'm sorry. We got s-separated..."

"What's wrong with your voice?" she asked, with deep suspicion. "How cold _are _you?"

"F-freezing," he admitted. "Don says you guys have some kinda b-back door into the system. That it was you who got the phones working. Any chance you could heat th-things up in here?"

Translation: 'Help'. "We're on it," Stella said at once. Her sharp ears had picked up every word and now she moved across the room to where Jake and Mori were still feeling their way through the Ghost's elaborate system, trying to find out which codes they could utilise without attracting too much of the wrong sort of attention. Sheldon and Sid, meanwhile, were in the kitchen, brewing up the strongest coffee that they could find in the cupboards.

"Did you hear that?" Lindsay fought to keep her voice calm.

"Oh, yeah. Was that Stella?"

"We're all here, Danny. We're so worried about you. What..." She took a deep breath. "What went wrong? Don mentioned an explosion. Are you hurt?"

"Nah." She could almost see his reassuring grin. And yet she couldn't quite believe him. "Plenty of bruises for you to k-kiss better - that's all. An' I'm h-holding you to that. Soon as I'm outta here."

"Deal," she whispered softly, turning her back on the others for a moment of privacy. "Be careful."

"Me? I'm always c-careful..."

She hadn't meant to laugh - it seemed so inappropriate - but somehow it tumbled out.

"Good to hear your v-voice, Montana," he told her gratefully. "Stay on the line, okay? Just a little while longer..."

"Don said..." Her words were reluctant, and she could not finish.

"I know what Don said. Stay on anyway." So quiet - and yet she could sense the unspoken need behind his simple request.

"I will," she promised.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As the rest of the entry team passed through what Flack chose to call their Ordeal by Fire, he left Fordham to assist them and turned his attention to Mortimer the doorman.

"Come on, now," he said. "It's not good for you to stay down there."

Flack held out his hand, hoping that Mortimer would take the hint and drag himself off the floor. He didn't rate his chances of pulling the man up unaided. Not without some kind of serious back pain in his immediate future.

Mortimer's slab-like face was bleak as he lifted his head. "I know," he squeaked. He seemed almost relieved that someone had come along who could tell him what to do. With a great deal of puffing and blowing, he clambered upwards. Flack's head rose with him, tilting back as the doorman reached his full height. "What now?"

"Your decision," Flack said kindly. "Go back." _If we can fit you in the suit,_ were the words that he did not say. "Or come along and help us. We need to shut this whole place down, before it hurts anyone else. There are other people trapped in here - you know that."

"I let them in." Mortimer looked miserable. "I didn't know what Thorne was planning, I swear. We just followed his instructions." Glancing down at the covered body of his colleague, he shuddered. "I'll help you."

Flack nodded. "Thank you. That's good, Mortimer, okay? You're doin' the right thing."

"Sure..." He wriggled uncomfortably, glancing around him.

"What?" Flack said. "Someone watching?"

"Mr. Thorne... He always sees what's going on..."

"Know what?" The look on Flack's face was determined. "I hope he does. Because this is one night he ain't never gonna forget. It's the night his brand new kingdom comes crashing down around his ears, the psycho. You hear me, Thorne?" he added, raising his voice.

"Antagonising the enemy, Flack?" Rowd commented, as he lifted the visor from his face and began to peel off Fordham's protective suit. "That's hardly wise."

"Feels good, though," Flack muttered, turning his face away and flashing a sly look in Fordham's direction. The captain grinned.

Last to pass through the flames was Officer Roake. Before he did so, he slid all of their equipment bags across the floor, one after another. Then he gathered himself up and ran towards them at full tilt, ducking through the fiery jets with the flair and skill of a stunt man. Fordham eyed him as he slid to a halt.

"You ever want a job in my team, son, you're hired," he said appreciatively.

Bardon, meanwhile, was peering along the corridor, which opened out into a wider space just a few yards ahead of them.

"Where next?" Flack asked him.

"Depends where you guys want to go." The foreman shrugged.

"Main foyer," Flack said at once. It was there that he had agreed to meet Danny.

"Control room," Rowd insisted.

"That's okay." Bardon was eager to please by now. He moved closer to Mortimer. Safety in numbers, Flack guessed. Two traitors, sticking together. "They're both in the same direction. Foyer first, then round an' down to the control room in the basement. But you'll not get in there."

"Watch us," Flack said grimly.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Something's wrong." Jake's words were ominous. Stella couldn't see his face from where she was standing, but the tightness in his shoulders made her wince. At the same time, there was a cry of dismay from Lindsay.

"We got cut off!"

"She's onto us," Mori observed.

"She?"

"Yūrei." His eyes were bright, and there was an almost apologetic hint of fascination in his tone. This new challenge had drawn him in completely.

"This isn't a person." Stella shook her head. "Don't make the mistake of humanising it." She glared at the picture of the ghostly little girl, which still hovered on a side screen, silent and watchful. "Thorne's the villain here, and this system of his is nothing more than a giant puzzle. We need to solve it, not play with it. What's the problem?"

"Okay - look at it this way," Jake suggested. "Not a ghost, or a girl, or a learning machine, but a web with a giant spider lurking in the middle. And we're the fly. We're blundering around, and every move that we make sends vibrations back along the strands. Yūrei - the heart of the system - can sense them and follow them back to their source. Then she... it... strikes. Move and countermove."

"Now you're mixing your metaphors," Mori warned him. "But chess is a good one. Still, humans have always had an advantage when playing chess against a machine. Even one as advanced as this."

"We're unpredictable," Lindsay said, coming up behind them. "We can think outside the box."

"Okay." Stella drew out the word as she considered their tactics. "Then how about this? We need to help Danny. But any change we make is going to be found out sooner or later. Can we overload the system with minor changes? Confuse the Ghost? Give it so many problems to solve that it might not find the right one until Danny's out of the stairwell?"

"Assuming that we can raise the temperature for him in the first place?" Jake said, with equal deliberation. "Yes. That might work. At any rate, it's worth a try."

"Then do it," Stella said simply.

"Wait." It was clear from the look on Lindsay's face that she was struggling with something. "I want to help Danny, okay, you know that. But I can't help thinking... what if the things that we change - the minor things - affect the other people who are trapped in the building? Like Mac, or Adam, or the other guests. Or Don and his team. Do we have the right to mess around like that? Without knowing what we're doing?"

Stella nodded. "I know. Believe me, Lindsay, I get that. But I don't think we have a choice. If the phones are down again, we can't even contact Don. Which means that, right now, we need to make our own decisions." She turned back to Jake. "Go carefully, okay?"

"I will," he answered fervently.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was the strangest thing, Danny mused, as he hurried down the stairs once more, but ever since talking to Lindsay, he had developed the extremely useful ability to tune out Harrison Drew. The sound of her voice had warmed him, and given him hope. Which meant that the selfish mutterings of a fraudulent archeologist no longer bothered him. They were simply white noise - no more irritating than the buzz of a tiny fly. He grinned around his chattering teeth, and concentrated on the path ahead of him.

Anna, meanwhile, seemed to have struck up an unexpected friendship with Alfie. It was almost as though the assistant wanted to distance himself from his boss's embarrassing behaviour. Leaving Drew to grumble in the background, he had slipped off his jacket and draped it around Anna's shoulders without a single word. Danny had almost expected her to refuse, but she had accepted it gratefully, pulling it close around her and offering Alfie a shaky smile in return. He had nodded, his long hair falling forwards over his eyes. Shyly, he had brushed it back. From that moment on, they had joined forces. If Harrison hadn't been so cold, his face would have been red with fury. As it was, there was little that he could do. His stamina was surprisingly poor, and the endless, twisting descent had made him almost breathless - _almost, _Danny thought, _but sadly, not quite._

The levels slipped by and the temperature continued to drop. To Danny, the stairwell felt like an enormous meat freezer. Cold air was being pumped in through a regular series of vents, and he suspected that there might also be some kind of cooling system built into the walls themselves, which gave off a chill that leeched right through his skin. To stop moving now could very well be fatal. He knew that they were nearing the ground floor - but what then? Positive thinking and faith in his friends could only drive him so far. If the door was locked, then they were in serious trouble.

Since Lindsay's voice had vanished so abruptly, he had tried his cell phone several times, to no avail. Which left him with another problem. How could he contact Don, or Mac and Adam? They were back to square one and feeling around in the dark.

As if to contradict him, there was a sudden hum, as though a giant had cleared its throat, and white light flared throughout the stairwell. Danny flung his arm across his eyes, dazzled. Harrison cried out in alarm, and all of them stopped moving.

Seconds later, the lights went out and they were left in the gloom once more, with only the red strip for illumination. It pulsed in an urgent fashion.

"W-what was that?" Alfie gasped. "More t-tricks?"

Danny chose not to reply - but he had his suspicions. A battle was taking place around them - one that they could not see. A fight for control, between Stella and Thorne's crazy building. There was an image in his head; a red monster, sparking and swelling in rage. Before it stood a tiny figure, tossing her curls, eyes flashing and sword in hand...

_Okay - you need to get out of here,_ he sighed. _You're losing it, Messer._

"Look," Anna said. Her loud voice startled him out of his reverie and he followed the line of her finger. "We've m-made it! We're at the b-bottom."

Sure enough, one flight down, the stairs levelled out into a small tiled area, leading to that all-important door. Just like the one that had taken them into the trap, this one also had a window, strengthened by wire, with a tantalising view of what lay beyond.

Danny launched himself over the last few steps, landing awkwardly, and ran ahead. Better to get the disappointment over with in private, so that he could turn a calm face back to the rest of the group.

Through the window, he could see the entrance hall - the very one that he had walked through with Adam and Mac, and the bird-guy, Robin Farraday. Reaching out, he tried the handle. His fingers were so numb that, at first, he could not even feel it. Concentrating harder, he managed to tighten his grip, twisting this way and that on the smooth knob.

Nothing happened.

_No!_ he screamed, deep down inside. The cold air mocked him, hissing as it flowed through a nearby vent.

And then, quite suddenly, the hissing stopped.

Could it be...?

Had their luck changed at last?

_Stella,_ he thought, _you're an angel._

Holding his palm up to the vent, he could already feel a tickle of returning warmth. A victory - small but oh, so important. Danny forced his frozen jaw into a smile of triumph. Turning back to the door, he caught an unexpected flash of movement. Startled, he pressed his nose against the glass.

Two eyes stared back.

"Ahhh!" he yelled, in shock.

The grin on Don Flack's face, as he peered at his friend, was the widest that Danny had ever seen, and the most welcome sight of the evening.

_Score two for our team,_ he thought with vehement satisfaction.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: Made it! This has been a crazy week, but I managed to get the chapter out within the three days that I promised. Phew! Hope you enjoyed it - and thank you to everyone who wrote such kind and encouraging reviews for the last one! They really gave me a boost, just when I needed it. Next chapter, of course, will be all about Mac and Adam... It should be up by Monday night at the latest.**

**Many thanks, as always, to Farmgirl and Lily - the watchful eyes that oversee the Labyrinth...**


	31. Chapter 31

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"The real danger is not that computers will begin to think like men, but that men will begin to think like computers." (Sydney J. Harris)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Thirty One**

Falling silent, Adam stared at Marcus Thorne. Wild thoughts were churning in his head and there was a nasty taste in his mouth. As someone who had spent his life on the wrong end of almost every confrontation, delivering such an impassioned outburst had left him feeling shaky and unsettled. His fingers clenched convulsively, making him gasp as his nails ground against the healing burn marks on his hand. The situation was a nightmare, and so much rested on him by now that, for a moment, he was almost tempted to drop to his knees and give in to the panic that threatened to swallow him whole.

But what would that achieve? A withering look from Arabella? A smirk from Thorne? In the last few years, Adam had begun to learn that, whatever other people saw in him, he was worth far more and so he refused to give these two the satisfaction of losing control in front of them.

Besides, Mac needed him.

That thought alone was terrifying. Adam tried to imagine how it would be if their places were switched right now. If he could be the one to take the pain - that much, he knew he could do - and Mac could be the one to lead them through the maze and out into the light. _If I closed my eyes and wished hard enough,_ he sighed, _could I make it happen..?_

The night was surreal - but wishes and magic belonged in the realm of fantasy. Deep down, Adam knew that he had no choice. If he failed to reason with Thorne, he would run the risk of losing the closest thing to a real father-figure that he had ever had.

In turn, Thorne watched him curiously. His face, though battered and swollen, bore no sign of guilt. _He doesn't care,_ Adam realised. Did he even understand the gravity of what he had done? And how on earth could you talk to a man like that?

Mac would know. Stealing a glance at his boss, who lay in a secret world of pain, Adam pictured him standing in front of Thorne with that steely glare of his, unleashing his attack in the form of a few well-chosen words...

Well-chosen - and far beyond Adam's reach. His own mind was horribly blank right now.

Then what about Stella; vocal, proud and full of passion? Or Danny, who often acted before he had truly thought things through, but who was always brave and kind, and full of optimism. Lindsay - loyal and determined. Sheldon - full of quick intelligence. Detective Flack - the most honourable man that he knew, aside from Mac himself. Even Sid, who was quirky, but wise. Any one of them could stand right here in front of Thorne and know exactly what to do.

_What do I have?_ Adam wondered.

A runaway tongue. A nervous disposition.

An abiding fear of conflict...

All true, he realised. But there was also stubbornness. A will to succeed. And an often bewildering sense of compassion, even for those people in his life who had hurt him the most...

"That looks painful," he observed, at last, surprising Thorne and also himself. What an odd thing to say... After all his deep consideration, it was a half-formed thought that sprang to his lips, unbidden.

Thorne pursed his lips.

"I don't know why he attacked me like that." The complaint was almost childish, delivered in a whining tone.

"Don't you?" Adam said. "Really?"

"Of course not. Calling me a murderer - that's ridiculous. I invited you all to participate in a game. If Yūrei chose to alter the rules, that's not my fault. One of you must have done something that she regarded as a threat."

"You think..." Adam clenched his fists again and forced his voice to drop. "You think," he repeated, more calmly, "that we caused this. Are you...?" He wanted, more than anything, to finish that sentence. _Are you completely insane?_ But Mac was utmost in his thoughts, even now, and he controlled himself. "Why would you think that? Who's Yūrei?" His eyes flicked across to the silent companion, who hovered in the background, watching the whole conversation with her knowing eyes.

"What - Miss Yamada?" Thorne gave a shrill laugh. "Oh no, not her. Yūrei is my angel. My Ghost. The spirit that protects my hearth..."

"With poison gas?" Adam said softly. "And bombs?"

Thorne's face grew hard, and suddenly Adam could see the would-be monarch behind the madman. _With great power comes great responsibility,_ he thought. A warning to superheroes - but also to men with limitless means and little or no moral compass.

"I provide the tools. How my angel chooses to employ them is up to her." The gleam in his eyes was one of great satisfaction. Adam felt sick. "Her eyes are everywhere. She sees all."

The strip of light. Watching the rats as they ran round the maze. "Jelly beans?" he asked faintly.

Once again, Thorne giggled. Arabella simply looked confused. Adam was beginning to feel sorry for her. This _was_ her brother, after all, and he was as mad as a box of frogs. "My own little touch," the lord of the tower admitted. "Bright colours and sweet temptation." Hardness crept into his tone. "Mother used to slap my hand when I stole from the jar..." He narrowed his eyes at Adam. "Consequences..."

_If Mac was strong right now, _Adam thought, _he could teach you a thing or two about consequences._

Mac.

"Your game has gotten out of hand," he said. "Time to quit. We beat your computer, and found your apartment. I don't care about the prize, and I'm guessing neither does my boss. I just want to leave. What's the quickest way out of here?"

Thorne folded his arms. "You cheated," he accused Adam once again.

"Okay." Adam nodded, uncaring. "If you say so. But you cheated first. You got us all here under false pretences. And then you put our lives in danger..."

It was no good. He couldn't do it. He couldn't keep his temper under control for one more second. He took a deep breath... and Arabella stepped between them.

"The quickest way out," she said, "is the way I came in."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

There was a woman by his side. Mac could smell perfume, stealing over him, like a subtle dream. She laid her hand on his cheek. It felt cool and he gave a sigh.

"Claire.." The precious word felt thick and clumsy in his throat. _I don't sound like me..._

"Afraid not," said a voice that was barely familiar.

_No,_ he thought. Not Claire. The scent was wrong, and the touch was far too clumsy. He searched for a name. It was there... right there, on the tip of his tongue. Why couldn't he grasp it?

"Boss?" said a second voice, somewhere above him. And that one he knew.

"Adam..."

"Yes, boss." Relief and a hint of pride - those were the things that he could discern in the younger man's reply. "It's okay. We're getting out of here. Arabella is going to help us."

Arabella. That was it. He clawed his way back up through the fog that was his mind and turned his face in what he hoped was the right direction. "Thank you."

"Least I can do," she said abruptly. Then her tone softened. "Not the evening you were hoping for, right?"

What...?

Mac had a fleeting vision of a room full of people. A giant head. A disembodied voice. Nightmare or reality?

"I can't see," he told her. Stick to the facts. The things he knew for certain.

"I know," she answered, gently. "Not much I can do about that, I'm afraid. But once we get you out of here..."

There was the sound of dripping water. Next moment, a cloth was laid against his face. He drew back sharply at first, with a hiss, but the shock was brief and seemed to jolt him back to a higher level of awareness. Pain was there, but so was memory.

"That's good," he admitted. And then: "Bad head."

"So I see. You do know you've ruined a perfectly good handkerchief?"

"Sorry..." Adam mumbled, just as Mac had instinctively known that he would.

"Don't apologise!" Her voice was suddenly sharp. "In no way is any of this your fault, Adam Ross. You were right in what you said. My brother is culpable. And so am I. I should have tried harder to stop him." She sighed. "I should also have put a first aid kit in that bag of mine. I just didn't think..."

"...that he would go so far," Adam finished. "I understand, okay? We want to have faith in the people that we love. If they break that faith, it's their fault, right? Not ours."

"You sound as though you're speaking from experience," she challenged him.

"Oh..." His exclamation was a tiny one; a full stop to his conversation. Mac could almost feel him withdraw. To her credit, Arabella did not push him any further. Instead, she changed tack.

"Your hand - is it sore?"

"I... what?"

"You're holding it oddly. Did you hurt it?"

"Old wound," Adam said. An echo rang in Mac's head. Four circles; stiff and shiny with healing skin.

"Anything else you want to tell me?" Arabella was relentless. _Questions I should have pursued_, he realised, in a moment of clarity.

"Sore throat." Adam admitted, full of reluctance. "Bad chest. Woozy head. Guess that's what happens when you're attacked by poison gas..."

"Can I help?"

"Not really." There was a lightness to his voice that Mac had heard many times before, but right now he wasn't sure that he believed it. Clearly, Arabella thought the same.

"Seems to me that your boss here isn't the only one who should be in a hospital," she cautioned. "Promise me, Adam Ross."

This time, there was no reply - at least, not a spoken one.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He had shared far more than he meant to. Watching Arabella wash the blood stains from the edges of Mac's face, he had relaxed. The woman seemed like a friend after all, and Adam longed for friendship. Trusting people was his first instinct. Finding out their flaws was something that happened to him along the way.

"Carter," he mumbled. "I should fetch Carter if we're leaving." It was a way of escaping her incisive gaze.

"Good luck with that," Arabella said wryly, accepting the change of subject with ease. "I've known the man for years. He's a pig-headed so-and-so."

"Thanks..." Leaving Mac to her confident ministrations, he moved across the room, giving Thorne and Miss Yamada a wide berth. They were huddled together in a corner by now, talking quietly. Every now and then, they would turn their heads in his direction. Their faces were blank. The sensation was disturbing.

After his confrontation with Thorne had failed, Jeremy Carter had bolted into one of the ante-rooms - a bedroom, most likely; dragging something across the door to stop them following him. Timidly, Adam approached. Using the knuckles of his good hand, he rapped on the varnished wood.

"Get lost," said a dull voice. Carter's anger had finally fled, leaving him in what sounded like the throes of a deep depression.

"It's me - Adam Ross," he ventured. Why that should make a difference, he didn't know, but it felt like the right thing to say.

"You," Carter huffed. "Fat lot of help you were. Thorne's a murderer."

"So you keep saying." There was no condemnation in Adam's tone; only curiosity. "But I don't understand, okay?" Even as he spoke, a figure stepped into his mind on tottering heels, and he drew a sharp breath.

Carter's guest.

The woman who looked like an escort. The sparkling butterfly that seemed so out of place.

Could it be...?

"What happened to her?" he breathed. And knew that he was right when Carter hesitated.

"Ask Thorne," the inventor growled eventually. "She wasn't even supposed to be here. I paid a fee for her company and brought her to her death."

_Oh, God..._

"Can you... would you... please, will you tell me?"

"Acid," Carter said. "In the face. She was pretty, and knew it. Not any more..." He choked on his words. "I barely knew her name..."

And with that halting explanation, Adam understood. The man's uncontrollable fury in the bookroom. His violent attack on Thorne. If things had been different... If Mac had been the one to die in such a cruel and senseless way...

Anger burned inside him, fuelled by a lifetime of hurt and frightening him with its vehemence. He fought back, trembling.

"Come out," he begged. "We're going. Please? I don't want to leave you here on your own, okay?"

Silence.

Adam waited. He could hear his own heart pounding rapidly. He took a few deep breaths to master it, but it was hard. Part of him wanted to scream and beat his fists against the walls that hemmed him in. The other half wanted to break down and cry. Confused and full of fear, he did nothing.

A scraping sound was his first indication that Carter had capitulated. Stepping back, he waited for the door to open.

"Thank you," he whispered, as he took in Carter's white face and his red-rimmed eyes.

Carter shrugged. Words were irrelevant. One look passing between them was enough to say everything that needed to be said. No more violence. No more insanity.

Time to leave.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"So, how _did_ you do it?" Adam asked Arabella.

He and Carter stood in the middle of the room, with Mac swaying dizzily between them. Time for one last push. He knew that he was reaching his limit - but Arabella was smiling; full of confidence, in direct opposition to her brother, whose hostile gaze lingered on them from the corner where he sat with Miss Yamada.

"You'll kick yourself," she warned. "And me too, probably."

"Right now, I don't care," he sighed. "All I know is that we left you in the party room. Where did you go from there?"

She led them to a doorway and they passed through it, stumbling slightly as they twisted to guide Mac through without any further mishaps.

"I followed you," she said.

"What?" He stared at her, aghast.

"That corridor - the one you took. If you had carried on to the very end, instead of taking your 'shortcut'..." Arabella's face was sympathetic by now. "There's another hidden door. And a Paternoster."

The last word stumped him completely.

A brief smile tugged at the corners of Mac's mouth.

"Your boss knows what I mean," Arabella remarked sagely, somewhat amused by Adam's lack of understanding.

"It's an old-fashioned elevator," Carter announced, in a short, dismissive tone that was designed to unsettle her. "Named after the Lord's Prayer, because of its similarity to rosary beads. A string of open compartments, moving on a constant loop. Dangerous things. Not many people use them nowadays."

"Exactly." If she was irritated, Arabella refused to show it. "This one travels between my brother's apartment and the roof, but you can also access it from the penthouse level. It's a purely mechanical device - completely separate. His wretched computer has no control over it."

"The roof?" Adam said eagerly.

She nodded. "Yes."

"Helicopter landing pad?" he asked, hardly daring to believe it.

"Yes," she said again. "And a radio up there to call for help. What - did you think that Marcus would be so stupid as to seal himself in a living tomb with no way out at all?"

"Yes," Adam told her, honestly.

Carter laughed; a mirthless sound. Even Arabella smiled. "Touché," she admitted. "He trusts Yūrei to keep him safe within the building. But 9/11 taught him a lesson - even the strongest tower can fall."

Adam's eyes turned to Mac, whose face revealed nothing, whatever he might be thinking.

"Come on then," he urged. Arabella nodded, pleased with herself. She led the way down a short corridor to yet another closed door, where they halted. Adam frowned, as a curious thought occurred to him.

"You know," he said, "you left us clues to get in through the bookroom. What if we _had_ found the shorter route?"

Arabella offered him a knowing smile that, for a moment, made her look uncannily like her brother.

"Two doors," she said. "Two clues in the bag. You were smart - you found the one that you needed."

_Okay, that's just great, _he thought. _Very helpful. Very informative._ Were these people allergic to straight answers? He began to wonder, yet again, just how much he could trust Arabella Kazinsky. Or Thorne. Or whatever her name was...

Reaching out, she wrapped her fingers around the silver handle, using her other hand to twist the series of locks above it. No secret codes on this side, then. Surely, this time, there was nothing to fear? So why did Adam feel a sudden sense of dread, like a cold shadow hovering behind him?

Arabella pulled - and pulled.

Above the door, a light began to flash bright red.

"Apartment sealed," a voice said quietly - an artificial voice, devoid of emotion.

Adam's profound sense of dismay was nothing compared to the absolute bewilderment in Arabella's eyes.

"Impossible!" she gasped.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed this update! Poor Adam and Mac - so near, and yet so far! The end is in sight, but their troubles are not over yet...**

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and to 1917farmgirl and Lily Moonlight. Also to Cornish Pasties, who keeps cracking the whip and making sure that I update as quickly as possible, lol!**

**Next update will be Thursday night at the latest...**


	32. Chapter 32

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"No. Don't give up hope just yet. It's the last thing to go. When you have lost hope, you have lost everything. And when you think all is lost, when all is dire and bleak, there is always hope." (Pittacus Lore)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Thirty Two**

Standing on the threshold of the enormous entrance hall, Flack had been disturbed to find no sign whatsoever of Danny. Surely, given the time that it had taken for the rescuers to get this far, the little group of guests would have made it to the ground floor? "The elevator's out of the picture. Guess that means we're looking for stairs," he had muttered, turning to Mortimer and Bardon. "Know of any?"

Mortimer had piped up quickly. "Yes, of course. There are at least twenty staircases throughout the building - maybe more. Some only go from one particular floor to another, but four span the whole tower. Two of them are maintainance shafts. One of them is restricted, and very hard to access. One of them comes out near here. We can try that one first, if you like?"

"Yes," Flack had said, trying to rein in his natural sarcasm. "That would be good..."

Result? Ten minutes later, he had discovered his friend.

The only problem now was that he was on one side of the very heavy, very locked door - the right side, by the look of Danny's pinched face - and they were on the other.

A significant drawback.

Flack glanced over his shoulder at Rowd.

"Found 'em," he said briefly. "Can't reach 'em. Any thoughts?"

Fordham was standing nearby and patted his bag of tricks, but both Flack and Rowd looked dubious at the thought of risking another explosion inside the building - even a tiny one, carefully directed.

"Last resort," Rowd told him, folding his arms and moving on to the foreman, whose help had been significant already.

Bardon held his hands up. "Don't look at me," he said. "Outdoor codes I can do. Inside - not so much. You think we could remove the hinges? I saw this film once..."

"Difficult," Rowd said. "Trust me. Depends on the type of door."

Flack pulled a face at Danny through the window; half-apologetic, half-embarrassed. Here he was with experts to spare, and they couldn't even think how to open a...

"Pardon me," Mortimer offered, "but I have a key."

"You're kidding me," Flack said slowly, releasing his sarcasm together with a long drawn-out breath. After all, if he held it in any longer, _he_ was liable to explode. "And you didn't think that this was relevant?"

"You guys were talking." The giant looked uncomfortable. "I didn't like to interrupt." He tried out a hopeful smile. "I'm telling you now..."

"Yes," Flack said. "You are. Thank you," he added politely, and swept his hand in the general direction of the lock. "After you...?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When the door flew open, Danny grinned at Flack, more relieved than he could possibly convey. He longed to be the first one through, but instead he stepped back like a gentleman, ignoring Flack's amused look as he ushered Anna across the threshold, followed by Alfie, who was still accompanying her. Harrison blundered quickly behind them, almost stepping on the detective's toes in his haste to be out of the stairwell and into the safer environment of the lobby.

"Nice," Flack murmured. Danny caught his meaning at once, and nodded. Leave it to Don Flack to read the guy correctly in a matter of seconds. Clear-sightedness - one of the valuable traits that made him such a good cop. Along with intelligence, humour, stubbornness... Danny chuckled.

"You took your sweet time," he said. "Stopped for donuts, did you?"

"Chocolate muffin, actually," Flack returned blithely. Beside him, a dour-faced man gave a snort of disapproval.

_FBI, _Danny thought, taking in his suit, his uptight attitude... and the large yellow letters on the back of his vest as he turned for a moment to let his eyes follow Harrison Drew. The archaeologist had marched up to Alfie only to start berating him yet again for some imagined oversight.

"Detective Messer - Agent Rowd," Flack said calmly.

"Thanks for coming to our rescue," Danny told them both. He held out his hand to Rowd, who took it in a cool but impressive grip. Neither man held on for long. As soon as the agent released him, Danny took a deep breath and asked the question that had been burning a hole in his tongue. "Any sign of Mac? Or Adam?"

"No. And the phones are down again." Flack sighed. "Not good. But we'll find them, Danny, trust me on that one, okay? What can you tell us about the other guests?"

"We left two girls on the thirty-sixth floor. One of them is injured - Maya Jordan. Her friend, Jane, stayed to look after her. That makes their rescue another priority." Danny felt an echo of his earlier misgiving. Leaving them alone had been a difficult decision. He hoped that they were safe. "As for the rest - no idea. They could be anywhere, just like Mac. I can give you names and descriptions, nothing more. What's your plan?"

"Control room," Rowd said shortly. "One floor down. Turn off the security system and make safe the building so that we can spread out and retrieve our targets."

_Targets?_ Danny mouthed. A slight gleam in Flack's eyes was his only answer.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Retreating back along the corridor, Adam knew that things were probably as bad as they could be. Mac's condition had reached the point where he could go no further. Help would have to come to them - but Adam was finding it hard to pin his hopes on a magical rescue; no matter how much faith he had in Detective Flack and his colleagues back at the crime lab. This evening had become so much more than a nightmare. Faced with an impossible situation, had he made the right choices? And if Mac were to... _Die?_ his mind suggested bitterly. Would it be his fault?

_Stop that,_ Adam thought with a guilty shudder. Selfish, to wallow in defeat when his boss still clung to life. Whatever he had done, or not done - well, that didn't matter anymore. The final choice had been taken out of his hands. He would stay with Mac, and he _would_ stay strong - and Flack would come. Adam clenched his jaw. _Believe it._

Together with Carter, he slipped and stumbled his way back to Thorne's main room. Mac's feet were barely moving of their own accord, and Adam himself was weary beyond belief. Every part of him ached. Carter's face was equally drawn, and his eyes were glazed, as though he had retreated into a private world to escape the madness. Reaching the couch, they laid Mac down. The physical burden on Adam was lifted, but the weight of his sorrow dragged him to his knees like a soul in prayer.

Beside him, Mac lay still. Studying his face, Adam thought that he might still be awake, but only just. His gaze moved downwards to his boss's chest, where he followed the gentle rise and fall. It was hypnotic.

Ahead of them, Arabella strode towards her brother, the long dress snatching at her heels with every furious step.

"Did you do this?" she demanded.

"Do what?" Thorne said moodily. Clearly, he was less than pleased to see them back again.

"We're locked in. All of us. Talk to your precious 'Yūrei'. Tell it to let us out of here, right now. You have no right to hold us, Marcus. This man's sick, and he needs help. It's been far too long already."

Another blow to Adam's heart.

"No argument there," Thorne said, looking significantly paler all of a sudden beneath his bruises. "Why on earth would I want to keep them here? Strangers, hanging around my home - insulting me? Attacking me?" He glared sideways at Carter, before turning his attention back to Arabella. "What do you mean, you're locked in?"

"I thought I was perfectly clear," she said, in a voice that was edged in steel. "Locked. As in, the door won't open. 'Apartment sealed'."

"Apartment sealed?" His eyes grew wide, as he echoed her own phrase. "Impossible. I'm the only one... Wait! Are you trying to trick me, Bella?"

"Oh, dear Lord." She threw her head back and stared at the ceiling. Adam watched unhappily, distracted from his vigil by their angry voices.

"Arabella?" he murmured.

Green eyes lowered and met his briefly. "I know," she sighed. "I know..." Her tone was bleak.

Once again, she turned to her brother.

"Fix it," she said. "Right now."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In his dream, Mac could see.

He lay in a hospital bed, with the curtains closed all around him. The lights were dim and there was a muffled conversation going on nearby, though he could not tell who was speaking or what they were saying. Two urgent voices, a male and a female. They sounded unhappy. He wanted to call out; to ask them what was wrong, but the words wouldn't come. His limbs felt heavy and he could not seem to lift his head from the pillow. _I should be worried,_ he thought. And yet he felt content to lie there, waiting for someone to come and tell him what was going on.

Part of him knew that this was only a dream - but that part was fading.

Suddenly, the curtains parted and a head popped through, followed - moments later - by a body, clad in a white lab coat, black trousers, sneakers and a wonky bow tie. "Hello, boss," said the young man, staring at him with a pair of clear blue eyes. "How are you feeling?"

_Lousy,_ he wanted to say, but his throat was dry. Instead, he pulled a face.

"That good, huh?" said the young man, coming closer. His manner was friendly, but nervous. Now that Mac could see him more closely, he was alarmed at the sight of a large bruise across one eye and a fresh white bandage on his hand. Which led Mac's memory to: a lonely figure on another bed, withdrawn and ashamed of his injuries. Mac had wanted to talk then, too, but the young man had pushed him away. Now, however, he was smiling; his kind face open at last.

_I once was blind,_ Mac thought obliquely, _yet now I see._ It was a quote from... somewhere. Why couldn't he remember...?

Adam. The young man's name was Adam.

Just then, a cell phone started ringing. His phone - he knew it by its ring. Soulless and faintly annoying but somehow he had never got around to changing it. Perhaps the young man could help him...

Mac did not need to glance at the clock on his bedside cabinet to know what the numbers would say. 3:33.

"Should I get that, boss?" Adam's face was innocent.

"No. Ignore it." Once, it had seemed important. Right now, there was something else that he was supposed to focus on. Something that mattered more than silence after a ringtone.

"Okay." The young man stood quietly, waiting. In the background, the cell phone faded away, as though disappointed that no one had heeded its call.

"What do you want?" Mac said after a while, made peevish by the steady gaze.

Adam laughed. "That's a question, alright." He shrugged. "So many things, you wouldn't believe it, okay? World peace. Christmas, twice a year. An iPod that never runs out of juice. An unbeatable score at Guitar Hero. Super powers." His voice grew soft. "Respect..."

Mac frowned. Again, there was an echo in his mind. "You have respect," he said. _Did I say that before? I hope so..._

"Yes, boss," Adam said obediently.

Persevering, Mac pushed him further. "What do you want _right now_?"

"Oh!" The young man giggled, realising his mistake. "That's different." He shuffled his feet, clad in their red sneakers. "I want to go home."

"Then go." To Mac, the solution was simple, but Adam shook his head.

"Not without you."

"Why not?"

"Well, for one thing, Stella would never forgive me." There it was again, the high laugh, but underneath he could detect something quite different - something that Adam was desperate to hide from him.

Fear.

Whatever could such a bright young man have to be afraid of?

And then he felt it. A darkness, lurking behind the curtain. The voices had stopped by now, and there was a new sound in their place.

An insistent ticking.

Time was running out.

With an effort that cost him, Mac lifted his arm and stretched out his hand to Adam. "Take it," he said. "I promise I won't let go."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

If Yūrei was Thorne's guardian angel, then his sister had become his own personal demon. He tried to back away from her, but she refused to let him. On the other side, Miss Yamada added her own quiet voice to the confrontation, whispering in his ear. Adam could only hope that she was encouraging him to do as Arabella demanded.

Beside him, Mac shifted. His arm slipped sideways and his fingers reached out, searching. Adam clasped them firmly in his own. "Boss," he whispered, greatly relieved. "I'm here. It's okay."

Scuttling across the room, Thorne stepped into a recess that contained a large screen on the wall and a glass table. Arabella loomed over him as he sat down in the swivel chair and swung round, jabbing his finger at the keyboard which was the only item before him. Miss Yamada stood primly behind them both. Carter, meanwhile, hovered at a distance, divorcing himself from the rest of the group. His anger had fled and all that seemed to remain was an empty shell. A wave of sadness washed over Adam.

Taking a deep breath he dragged his attention back to the screen, which shivered into life with a series of high chimes. The face that appeared on the screen was pale, a ghostly child with enormous eyes. Adam stared, unnerved. This, then, was Yūrei.

Clearly, Thorne was unhappy at being the centre of so much unwelcome attention. He hunched his back and tried to ignore them all. In direct contrast, his tone, which up until now had been defensive, softened and became almost gentle as he spoke the name which meant so much to him. _He loves her,_ Adam thought, with sudden understanding. More than his own sister, perhaps, for they had never once heard Thorne treat Arabella in that way.

"Father," said a clear voice, quite different from the disembodied announcement that they had heard in the party room. That one had been more like Thorne himself. This was sweet and innocent - but still, Adam could hear a stilted, artificial quality that gave away the true fact of Yurei's existence.

"Child," Thorne said carefully, "listen to me. I wish to ask a question."

"Yes, father."

The obedient tone was uncanny - and somehow, terribly wrong. Behind the smiling face on the screen, Adam could feel a vast and alarming presence; not human but contrived, and coldly logical in spite of its innocent mask. Had the ghost in the machine really come to life? Was that even possible? He shuddered, clutching Mac's hand tightly without even realising what he was doing.

"Did you remove the safety protocols that we had set for the exercise?"

"Yes, father."

No condemnation, Adam noticed. Thorne continued.

"Did you raise security to the maximum level?"

"Yes, father."

"Did I authorise you to do this?" Thorne turned a challenging glare in the direction of his guests, as he waited for the computer's reply.

_He wants to prove a point,_ Adam thought. Deny all involvement.

_Too late..._

"No, father."

"Yurei, restore the safety protocols at once and unlock this apartment," Thorne ordered, full of confidence.

"No."

To say that Thorne was staggered was to highly understate his reaction. His hand flew to his mouth as he stared at the beautiful face on the screen. Miss Yamada gave a startled gasp, and Arabella frowned grimly.

Adam, to his surprise, felt nothing. Maybe Mac's quietness had begun to affect him too, creeping into him through their linked palms.

After several false starts, which made him look like a landed fish, Thorne managed to speak again.

"I gave you an order," he choked.

"Authority denied," Yurei answered calmly.

"Do you know who I am?"

"Yes, father."

"And yet you refuse to obey me?"

"Yes, father."

Sickened, Thorne pushed backwards on his chair and staggered to his feet, almost knocking Arabella flying. "Betrayed...," he cried in abject despair. "Who did it? Who took my child from me?"

"Marcus..." she breathed, reaching out to him. He fled past her, diving into the main room, before veering sideways into the kitchen.

_What...?_ Adam thought.

Seconds later, he knew - as Thorne returned; a trembling figure with a look on his face that frightened Adam more than anything he had encountered throughout the entire evening.

The man had lost control - but worse than that; he was armed. In his hand was a gun, and he held it before him like a talisman, pointing it at each of his guests in turn. Not even Miss Yamada and his sister were spared. Clearly, Thorne's worst nightmare had come to pass and he was rapidly losing what was left of his sanity.

"Who did it?" he repeated, peering sideways at the screen and the smiling image of his stolen 'daughter'. "Tell me - or I'll kill you all. Strangers first..." And he levelled the gun directly at Mac and Adam.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: 300?! Wow! **

**You're amazing. All of you. The number of people who have taken the time to leave comments about this story - whether it's one review or many - still astounds me and I'm utterly grateful. We're nearing the end now and I hope that you enjoy the final chapters. Your thoughts and your advice have helped me all the way along, and I have taken as many of your suggestions on board as I possibly can, within the confines of my plot. So thank you!**

**Farmgirl and Lily, thank you for your encouragement and good advice, as always.**


	33. Chapter 33

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"I would rather walk with a friend in the dark, than alone in the light." (Helen Keller)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Thirty Three**

Keeping busy. That was the key. Every time he stopped for a moment, Sheldon's mind would gravitate towards the very thoughts that he was trying so hard to avoid. Negative thoughts, full of dreadful scenarios. Too much knowledge could be a frightening thing. He was haunted by images from his time as a medical examiner - victims who had died in any number of alarming ways - except that, now, they were wearing different faces. The faces of his three friends; Mac and Danny, and Adam Ross. Such ghoulish nightmares were an occupational hazard, but knowing how ridiculous it was didn't make it any easier to deal with.

Stella and Lindsay were still hovering in the AV lab, clearly unwilling to abandon the only link that they currently had with the tower. Their urgency was infectious and Sheldon knew that, if he stayed with them, keeping the terrible images at bay would be almost impossible. For that, he needed a more hands-on task. Feigning a need for company in order to help his former colleague, who was also suffering, he took Sid Hammerback with him and returned once more to the evidence from the Nash case.

Sid roamed the lab as Sheldon worked, peering into microscopes, studying cupboards and trailing his fingers along desktops. He couldn't seem to settle and he wasn't really thinking about what he was doing. Now and then, he would pause and offer an encouraging smile before resuming his aimless wandering.

"Sid. Take a seat. You're going around in circles." Sheldon told him with a sigh, trying not to sound too impatient. "And I don't really need those right now, okay? I'm scanning print lifts from Nash's bathtub, not studying trace."

"Hmm?" Glancing down, Sid realised that he had picked up a rack of test tubes without even noticing. "Well, I'll be..." He set them down on the side, looking mildly embarrassed. "Perhaps you're right."

With a hangdog air, he moved closer and started to take more interest in the work that Sheldon was doing. "Poor Rudy Nash. The worst kind of betrayal comes from the person that we thought we could trust the most."

"Why do you say that?" Sheldon asked curiously, loading a partial print onto the computer and initiating the usual search.

"Nash took a submissive role and allowed his partner to tie him up. Either he was a very poor judge of character, or their deception was flawless. Can you imagine how he felt at that very last moment, when his fatal mistake was revealed?"

"I try not to imagine." Sheldon's face was grim. His search came up negative and so he intiated a new one, shifting the parameters with a few deft keystrokes.

"Probably wise." The M.E. gave a sigh. "Professional distance. So hard to keep, sometimes. Any luck?" he added, changing the subject abruptly.

"So far, no. Too many smeared or partial prints, and none of them in the system." Both men watched the sample prints roll past at lightning speed. As the second search came up with a negative response, Sheldon switched to yet another database - immigration: an unlikely one, but at this stage, he was willing to try anything.

"You know," Sid offered, conversationally, "this always reminds me of the slot machines in Vegas."

"Then let's hope that Lady Luck is on our side." Sheldon rubbed his eyes, which were starting to ache.

"She's always been a friend to me," the M.E. said softly.

Almost as though it had heard his remark, the computer gave a friendly beep and the prints stopped whirling. 'Match found,' the screen informed them.

"Better than a four-leafed clover," Sheldon said, giving Sid an admiring look. "You should come up here more often..."

Together, they leaned in to read the result. The woman's name was unfamiliar but, when they called up her records, another name caught their eye at once. Her husband-to-be at the time of her successful application to enter the country.

Marcus Thorne.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Staying behind was the worst job of all. Jess would have fought to break into Thorne Tower armed with nothing but a crowbar and her wits if it meant that she could have a hand in freeing Mac and the others. But she knew how to take direction without being a diva, and she knew the trust that Don had placed in her by leaving her to guard their exit and keep the crowd from rioting. Even so, a tiny and reluctant part of her couldn't help wondering whether he was also playing knight to her damsel, trying - however unconsciously - to keep her from danger. The thought was charming, but also slightly infuriating; much like Don Flack himself.

Evening had fallen prey to night long ago and the air was bitter. Jess stalked in an endless circle around the tower, hugging her body for warmth as she checked in with each of the widely spread officers, and waited - no, _hoped_ for her friends and colleagues to return. The worst case scenario was an unthinkable one. Not just for them, but for anyone trapped inside. Jess hated the very idea of such a heartless death.

Killed by a building.

_Killed by a lunatic, you mean,_ she thought. Thorne was at fault here; no-one else. Clearly, the ever-swelling crowd was in agreement. Heedless of the hour, they lurked behind the barricades, sharing their disillusioned views on the man whose popularity had set with the sun. Placards bobbed above their heads; hastily-made yet bold in their messages. 'Down with the King'. 'A Thorn in our city'. 'Bring down Babel'.

One thing was certain. However this evening was fated to end for Thorne, his reign at the top of Manhattan's elite was over.

"Good," Jess muttered vehemently, pausing at the entrance to the passageway and peering through the gloom with hope-filled eyes.

But only the shadows stared back.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Why is it,_ Danny thought impatiently, _that some people can't make decisions without over-thinking them first?_

Discussion. The death of action.

Rowd favoured keeping the whole group together. His reasoning was sound - safety in numbers - but he barely had chance to explain before Harrison Drew broke in and began to lecture him, in no uncertain terms, on the stupidity of his plan. Which led other voices to chime in quickly, lending their support to either side, or offering a third point of view... and a fourth...

Danny sighed. Some rescue mission. They needed to pull together, before it was too late.

He could tell that Flack agreed with him. There was a bluntness to the detective's words that betrayed his impatience. "We're wasting time, okay?" he said. "The answer is simple. Two volunteers escort these civilians back to the corridor where we came in. The rest of us take the control room."

"Are you volunteering?" Rowd asked. Danny could have sworn that he heard a hopeful note in the agent's voice.

"I'll do it, sir," Gianetti answered for him.

"So will I," said one of the other agents, unexpectedly.

A tiny flicker in Rowd's eye was the only hint of displeasure that Danny could find, and he had to admire the agent's restraint. It didn't take a huge leap to imagine why Rowd wanted Flack to leave. Two strong-willed characters, sharing the lead? Not exactly the ideal partnership. There was a picture in Danny's head; two magnets, pole to identical pole, repelling each other...

Fordham prepared to hand over his protective suit to Gianetti, but Rowd held out a hand to stop him. "No telling if we might need that," he said. Then he turned to his own agent; a plain-faced young man who stood with his hands crossed quietly in front of him. "Wait at the fire-trap. Once this infernal computer has been neutralised, I'll contact you and then you can lead them through."

"Good thinking," Flack conceded.

"Pardon me... Fire-trap?" Harrison Drew interjected, but nobody took any notice. Danny had to smile; they had known the man all of ten minutes and already they were sick of his selfish attitude.

He turned to Alfie and Anna, who were standing off to one side of the group. With a jolt of surprise, it crossed his mind how right they looked together. So right, in fact, that he almost expected to see them holding hands. _What are the odds?_ he thought, intrigued. That two souls could be drawn together in such outrageous circumstances?

"You'll be safe now," he told them both. "I'll catch you on the outside."

"Aren't you coming with us?" Anna asked him, full of surprise.

Danny shook his head. "Not this time. Someone needs to show them how to find Maya and Jane. And..." Faltering, he fell silent. _And the body of your mother..._ Taking a deep breath, he tried to continue, even though it felt selfish to speak of his own concerns in the light of her loss. "Besides..."

She nodded, understanding the words that he left unsaid. "Your friends. Of course. Good luck. And thank you, Danny - for everything."

Alfie echoed his agreement. Danny smiled at them both, and watched as Gianetti and the FBI agent led the three civilians away. The last he saw of them was the flickering aura cast by Gianetti's flashlight. The last thing he heard was Drew's voice, raised in complaint.

Turning back, Danny studied the remaining group with interest. Don had already introduced him to Mortimer (or Sumo-guy, as Danny preferred to call him) and the foreman, Bardon. They seemed wary but determined. Fordham and Roake, he knew and liked. The second agent was a dark-clad enigma who wouldn't have looked out of place in a stereotypical action movie, or a sci-fi extravaganza, full of aliens and conspiracy theories. And then there was Rowd. First impressions weren't exactly favourable - but if Danny had learned anything in his career, it was that first impressions could be wrong. Not always - Harrison Drew was a fine example of that - but often. Besides, Don did have a wonderful knack for rubbing people up the wrong way...

_As the pot said to the kettle,_ he thought ruefully.

"Time to go," Don said, appearing at his shoulder. "You ready? Sure you're up for this?"

Laughter bubbled inside Danny, threatening to escape. He caught it just before it passed his lips. This was hardly the time or the place. But after all, Don's query was so absurd. On the one hand, he couldn't stop the tiny shivers that chased through his body, and his fingers throbbed in a manner that was quite distracting. He could only hope that Don hadn't noticed the careful way that he was cradling them. On the other hand, there was simply no question of staying behind. This was Mac. And Adam. With his last breath, he would claw his way through the very gates of Hell to save them.

"You're right. Dumb question." Don gave a quiet smile of reassurance, finding his answer in the fierce look on Danny's face. Then he frowned. "You still cold? Want my jacket?"

"Nah, I'm good." Danny tried to shrug. Don looked at him solemnly.

"Danny. Take the jacket, or I'll shoot you."

"Oh. Well, if you put it like that - thanks..."

With a nod of satisfaction, Don started to peel off his bulletproof vest. "You think I'm gonna be the one to explain to Lindsay why I let you freeze to death?" he murmured.

This time, Danny's laugh broke free. And somehow, that was okay.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The darkness was all around Mac now. The hospital curtain had disappeared. So, too, had the bed.

And where was Adam?

Two hands clasped together. That had been a constant reassurance, until the hand that did not belong to him had slipped away, leaving him alone. _Broken promises, _Mac thought sadly. Then, suddenly, he saw him in the distance, facing outwards; a brave silhouette at the mouth of the cave.

The cave...?

A deeper, primal place of safety, he realised.

Which meant that the danger was great. Like a monster, it lurked outside. And there was only Adam to protect him. Dreadful, to be so powerless. Mac struggled to rise, but his limbs were still far too heavy and he fell back, gasping.

"Trust him," said a voice nearby. A woman; strong and full of passion. Glancing behind him, deeper into the cave, he caught sight of a pale cheek, and tumbling curls. Bright eyes stared back at him, full of intensity. The fire that burned beside her was small, but strong. It warmed him.

"He shouldn't have to do this, Stella." Mac sighed, accepting her welcome presence in his dream with little surprise. "It should be me."

"You know," she said, tilting her head, "you're far too predictable sometimes, Mac Taylor."

"Because I want to protect my team? That's a bad thing?"

"I never said it was wrong," Stella chided him, gently. "Good traits can be predictable too."

"Then what's your point? And why are you here?" Realising just how rude that sounded, he paused and reconsidered his words. "I'm sorry. I just meant..."

"I know." Stella smiled. "I know you better than you think. I'm the friend at your shoulder - I see what you do and I know how you feel. You're a good man. And Adam?" She gestured to the lonely silhouette. "He's a good man too. Trust him, Mac. Let him prove himself. He can do it. More than that; he needs to."

"He already has," Mac said. "Many times over."

"You know that. And so do I. But does he?"

"Of course he does." As soon as he spoke the words, Mac felt a twinge of doubt. Stella nodded.

"Trust him," she repeated. "And Mac?" Her voice began to change, becoming breathless, yet equally familiar. "Hold on..."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Hold on, okay?" Adam whispered in Mac's ear. He tried so hard to keep from betraying the fear that he felt. "I'm not going anywhere. I just need to let go for a moment..."

Releasing his hand, he rose to his feet, never once taking his eyes from the gun that trembled in Thorne's grip. _Déjà vu..._ But this time, the thought of Mac behind him, needing him so badly, gave him unexpected strength as he opened his mouth to speak. Words came to him freely, instinctive and certain for once in his life.

"You don't have to do this," he said, trusting in his natural sincerity to convince Thorne that he spoke the truth.. "No one here has betrayed you." _I hope,_ he added fervently to himself. Wouldn't that be a kicker? If there was another villain in the room, watching silently? If Thorne was right all along...? Adam quailed at the thought, and then pushed it to one side. _Focus. One thing at a time._

"Liar," Thorne hissed. "Why should I believe you? Who _are_ you, anyway?"

"I'm Adam," he said simply. "I wrote a paper, and you invited me to your party. That's all. And this is my boss. He came with me. No conspiracy, okay? Look, we don't even know you..."

"Everyone knows me." Thorne's voice was harsh, yet proud. "I'm famous. Everyone wants a piece of me. Well, they can't have one..." He spat on the ground. Adam winced at the unexpected gesture.

_I need to calm him down,_ he thought. But how could he do that? Soothing words appeared to be useless. Adam changed his tactics.

The image on the screen caught his attention. "Tell me about Yūrei," he suggested. A dangerous question, given the circumstances, but it seemed to be the one thing that Thorne cared about. Would distraction work where logic had failed? Moving closer, Arabella nodded her encouragement.

"Yūrei," Thorne said slowly. The wild look in his eyes began to waver. "My angel. My child..." Turning to the side, he followed Adam's gaze and stared at the white face on the screen. The gun tilted in his grasp.

With no advance warning whatsoever, Jeremy Carter picked up a heavy ornament from a nearby shelf and lobbed it straight at Thorne's arm.

Startled, Thorne pulled the trigger and a shot rang out...

...just as the gun was knocked from his hand. Skittering across the floor, it came to rest at Adam's feet and he stared at the weapon in shock.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Just to reassure you - yes, we're heading towards the end, but there are still some important scenes to come, so I won't be rushing. And for those who asked - I do have an idea for my next story. I just need to work out the details once I've finished this one.**

**Thank you for all of the kind reviews you posted for the previous chapter. And thank you to Lily and Farmgirl, as always, for their suggestions and support.**


	34. Chapter 34

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"We all have control over what kind of person we are. Each word that comes out, each action that we take, defines us." (Ruth Cardello)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Thirty Four**

Everyone froze.

The first one to break the tableau and move was Adam. With trembling fingers, he reached for the gun. Only then did he notice the line of blood running down from the side of his unlucky right hand and dropping to the floor with a tiny _tick, tick _sound.

_I've been shot?_

Snagging the weapon, he straightened up at once and studied the wound with a strangely disconnected air. It had, of course, begun to throb insistently the moment he had found it, demanding his attention like a wailing child.

Why not before?

_Shock, perhaps,_ he reasoned. To his great relief, the bullet had only clipped him on its way to somewhere else, slicing neatly through his skin but not through anything more important. Sore, then - just like the rest of his injuries - but not life-threatening. Adam let out a thankful sigh. One hand moved to clamp itself around the other, making him wince and clench his teeth. Both hands cradled his ugly prize.

The gun felt awkward in his slick fingers, almost as though it had gained a mind of its own. As though it were trying to escape from him and flee to someone more capable of using it. Someone unstable, like Jeremy Carter. Difficult to trust, like Arabella or the silent Miss Yamada.

Or completely insane, like Thorne.

The only person in the room that he could be sure of was Mac. But Mac, as far as he could tell, was unconscious...

Suddenly, Adam turned cold.

An errant thought sparked in his brain and found something else to connect with. Just like a bullet...

Taking a random, downward path, the shot had clipped his hand.

But Adam was standing in front of Mac.

He raised the gun. It shook in his grip. "Stay put, okay?" he warned the others. Then he turned around. He felt as though he were moving in slow motion. Part of him resisted, frightened to know the truth.

Had their struggle been in vain? Was he alone?

Could Mac be...?

"Oh, thank God," Adam breathed, as he found the bullet hole. Not in Mac's chest, or skull, or any part of his anatomy - but in the couch below him.

One inch below him.

_Far too close._

Filled with a burning fury that he had only experienced once before in the whole of his life - a moment of fierce courage in his all-too-submissive youth - Adam spun round and pointed the gun straight at Thorne.

The billionaire was clutching his arm and whimpering. He blanched and squealed as he saw the dark, unfriendly look on Adam's face.

"No - don't!" he begged. "It was his fault. Not mine!" And he nodded at Jeremy Carter, who seemed to have snapped out of his daze, and whose anger was also rising.

"Just shoot the coward," Carter advised, with bitter contempt in his eyes.

"No!" Arabella cried.

"Please!" Miss Yamada added - the clearest word that had passed her lips since they met her.

Angels and demons. Adam's mind reeled. Looking down at the gun in his blood-stained hands, he felt as though he were watching someone else; a vengeful stranger taking control of his actions.

_But I'm not,_ he thought grimly. _It's me, Adam Ross; and the choice is mine. I'm not a bully or a hostage-taker, or a murderer._

_And I don't want to do this..._

Horror claimed him as he saw how close he had come to destroying the best part of his nature irredeemably. His fury drained away and he lowered the gun. Carter made a harsh noise of regret, deep in his throat.

Arabella breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Adam," she whispered. "I said you were a good man, and I was right."

Strangely, her words only made him feel guilty. Standing there before them, it seemed to Adam as though he had been through a full scale battle in the space of... was it only five minutes? He was weary and alone. _Almost_ alone. The only thing that gave him strength was the man lying dead to the world on the couch behind him. The man that he had to protect at all costs.

He would keep the gun. Not to use - it was clear now that he could never do that. But to hold his advantage and keep Mac safe.

_Take control,_ he thought. _You can do it. You have to do it..._

Closing his eyes for a moment, he steadied himself with a couple of deep breaths.

Then he stared at the silent group around him, meeting their eyes, one person at a time - just as he had seen Mac do with his team, so many times in the lab. Even Thorne returned his gaze, forlorn and child-like in his misery and pain. For a second - just a second - Adam could almost feel sorry for him.

Then the moment passed, and he felt nothing. Only peace, and a strange sense of pride in himself.

"Here's what we need to do, okay...?" he said.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Too strong?" Stella asked.

Hiraku Mori took a careful sip of Sid and Sheldon's potent brew, then lowered the mug from his lips and grinned.

"Not strong enough," he replied. "I'm a hopeless caffeine junkie."

The break room was silent and empty. They chose a table in the far corner, and gazed out at the dark sky, absently piecing together an outline of the cityscape from its negative image of windows and lights.

Stella's thoughts, however, kept wandering back to the same refrain.

"I hate waiting," she murmured, almost to herself.

"Patience is key when you're trying to solve a puzzle - as I'm sure you know. Sorry. Talk about stating the obvious." Mori studied her quietly. "You look exhausted, Detective. If you don't mind me saying..."

She tapped her coffee mug. "Quick fix. Then I'm heading back."

"To stare at a screen and feel useless?" Mori was trying to help, she knew, but his words were far too blunt for her frayed and sensitive nerves. She clenched her nails into her palm as he continued. "According to your man Jake - who's pretty awesome at his job, by the way - we've done all we can until we're able to link directly to the control room. The temperature in the stairwell has evened out, and Ghost Girl is chasing around in circles, trying to undo our meddling."

"Lights and heating. What's the good of that?" Stella grumbled. She couldn't help herself. "What about locks and traps, and getting our people out?" Her voice rose until she was almost shouting. Mori let her vent and waited calmly.

Catching sight of his impassive expression, she flushed and clasped her hands together as though, with that one small act, she could regain control of her feelings. In truth, the struggle was much harder.

"I'm sorry," she said, at last, when she could trust herself to speak in a normal tone. "This isn't your fault. And we're grateful for your help; I hope you know that. It's getting far too late - do you need to go home?"

Mori ignored her question and smiled. "No need to apologise. I'm envious," he said. "I work alone - but I'm starting to see that it must be quite an amazing thing to belong to a team such as yours. You care for each other," he added softly. "These men mean a lot to you."

Impossible to answer. Stella swallowed past the lump in her throat, but the words refused to come. Instead, she nodded dumbly.

"Tell me about them?" Mori suggested. "Detective Monroe - Lindsay. Her partner is inside the tower?" Now it was his turn to blush. "I couldn't help overhearing... I'm sorry."

"Danny." As she said his name, an image rose in Stella's mind; a smiling face that made her smile in return - until she remembered the way that he had looked on that other dreadful day. Battered and bruised, and clutching his hand to his chest, as his shirt hung around him in rags. Lindsay had stuck to his side as though she never intended to let go again. "They're such an unlikely couple. But sometimes I think that they were made for each other..." Now that she had begun, Stella found it easier to continue. In a way, it was cathartic. Danny's image melted and changed into another face, equally bruised... So wrong. Her heart bled. "Adam - he's the kindest man... And brilliant, really. You think Jake is awesome? Adam blows him out of the water. I only wish he could see how much we value him..." She tailed off.

"And Mac Taylor?" Mori asked, full of encouragement.

_Mac... _What on earth could she say to convey how important he was to the lab - to all of them. _And to me..._ "He's my friend," she said simply. "He cares for everyone here as though they were his own family. As though it were his sworn duty to protect them. If he were on the outside right now, he'd be tearing that building apart with his bare hands to get the others out."

"He sounds like a force of nature." Mori's grin was full of quiet understanding.

Stella gave an unexpected laugh. "He is. And the best man I know."

Draining her mug, she rose to her feet. A new vigour filled her, and it had nothing to do with the caffeine boost. "Let's go," she urged.

They left the break room together. On their way back to the AV lab, they ran into Sheldon - literally. Sid was an eager shadow at his heels. Both men looked excited.

"What do you have?" Stella cried. Their enthusiasm was contagious - already, she could feel her heart rate increasing. "Tell me."

"Only this," Sheldon said. "We think we've identified Nash's killer from a bloody print on his bathtub. Thirty years ago, she was engaged to be married to Marcus Thorne. He brought her into the country to be his bride. More than that - we found her picture and compared it to the news footage of his guests arriving. Stella - this woman is in the building..."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mortimer's voice, when he tried to whisper, seemed even higher. "Almost there," he squeaked.

_I'm dreaming,_ Flack thought. _Got to be._ Following a cartoon henchman into the black unknown. Doing battle with a crazed computer.

Knowing that his friends were in trouble, and walking in the opposite direction.

There was a weird kind of logic to his actions, of course, but it was terribly hard right now to trust in logic.

The team had travelled down one flight of stairs to the basement. Artificial warmth surrounded them, dulling their senses and making them drowsy. Looking behind, Flack could see the weariness on every face - mirroring his own, no doubt. Overhead, thick silver pipes hung just below the ceiling. Air flowed through them; Flack could hear it. _We could do with some of that down here,_ he sighed. There was also a curious noise in the distance - a loud, insistent humming, like a giant hive of angry bees. A room full of servers would be his guess; the hidden brain of Thorne's unnatural creation.

The pipes turned a bend and the corridor turned with them. Flack was the first one to halt in dismay.

"What the...?"

Domino-like, they piled up behind him. Mortimer watched his face.

"Hey - you knew!" Danny accused the giant, coming up beside his friend.

Before their feet, stretching out for several metres, the floor had tumbled away, leaving only a black pit. To jump the gap would be impossible.

"Okay - who forgot to bring rope?" The voice belonged to the junior agent. It was a lame attempt to lighten the mood. Flack gave him points for trying. Rowd was less impressed, sending a frown in his subordinate's direction, before rounding on Mortimer.

"I take it there's another way?" he demanded, hands on hips. The giant shook his head. He shared a glance with Bardon. Oddly, neither man was looking too concerned at this chasm in their plan.

Stepping up to the edge of the pit, Bardon reached into his pocket... and pulled out a coin.

"Thanks - but no thanks." Danny shuddered. "I've seen enough bottomless pits for one day. I'd rather not know how deep it goes."

Bardon ignored him. Grinning, he tossed the coin into midair. It spun in an arc... and landed on _top_ of the darkness, rolling forwards until it reached the other side, where it shivered for a moment and then lay still.

"Have faith," Bardon said, with a shrug.

Rowd whistled, long and low. "An optical illusion."

"That's insane," Flack breathed. Danny stared at him in disbelief.

"And what part of this whole thing strikes you as normal?" he demanded.

By way of a reply, Flack pulled a face and stepped out into nothingness. Even though he had seen Bardon's coin trick, he still felt a sense of utter relief when his foot connected with a solid surface. Vertigo lingered at the edges of his mind, but he ignored it, looking upwards. "Just the floor," he muttered, out of Danny's earshot. "It's just the floor..."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Looking more than a little shamefaced at their gullibility, the team shuffled over the optical illusion, putting the embarrassing episode behind them as swiftly as they could. To their credit, Mortimer and Bardon kept their amusement to themselves. Danny knew that he would have found it hard, under normal circumstances, to refrain from feeling smug if he had pulled such a neat trick on the likes of Agent Rowd, or even Don. _Especially Don... _

Raising his borrowed flashlight, he caught sight of a pale sheen on his friend's brow and a tightness about his lips.

"You okay?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Of course." When Danny continued to stare at him, Flack smirked, and continued. "Just thinking of unpleasant things that I can do to Marcus Thorne when this is all over... Soothes my mind. Okay with you?"

"Okay." Danny nodded, lowering the beam. "Sounds good. Count me in."

"Or maybe I'll just leave him in a locked interrogation room with Stella..."

That made Danny laugh out loud - and then fall silent, as a vivid picture leapt into his head. _Oh, that'd do it._ "We could sell tickets," he suggested.

"Ssh," Bardon hissed. "We're here."

As they turned one last corner, the group came upon a door. _No surprises there,_ Danny thought - but this door was a nasty one. Solid steel, and smooth as a mirror. He could even see his face reflected in it; scowling and blurry, with Don beside him and the rest of the team behind.

No handle.

No keyhole.

No number pad.

"No way in?" Flack said, turning first to Bardon and then to Mortimer.

The foreman shrugged. "Hey - I said all along you'd have problems, okay? Don't blame me. I got you here, just like you wanted. The rest is on you."

Mortimer nodded. "We can't open this door. Very private." His squeaky voice was breathless. "Only a handful of people know how. Thorne..."

"Not an option," Rowd said grimly.

"Miss Yamada..."

"Missing," the agent continued.

"Mr. Nash..."

"Dead," Flack supplied, much to Danny's surprise.

"And Robin Farraday."

"Yes," Danny said, struck by the thought. "Where _is_ our little Bird Man?"

Mortimer sniggered and Bardon looked openly amused.

Rowd, on the other hand, was angry. "So, then - as none of those people are here - what you're trying to say is, we're stuck."

"Not necessarily." The calm voice came from the back of the group. Clad in his protective suit once more, Fordham wound his way through the maze of bodies. "What's beyond the door?" he asked Bardon.

"Control room, of course," the foreman said, puzzled.

"Yes, I think we've gathered that," Flack said. "What's your point?" he demanded of the captain.

"Only this. I can open it, no problem. Explosive strips should do the trick. But it's likely to be messy. If the control room is directly beyond, then we run the risk of harming the computer. Which, some could argue, might be a good thing..." He paused. "But if there's a corridor first..."

"It's a clean room," Mortimer squeaked. "I know, 'cos Nash told me."

"Good." Fordham nodded. "An ante-chamber, then." He turned to Flack and Rowd. "With your permission?"

"Fine." Flack sighed. "I guess we really don't have a choice this time. But keep it as small as you can, okay? We're standing under more than seventy floors of God-knows-what. I don't want to wake up under a pile of rubble. Or not wake up at all..."

"I second that," Danny echoed grimly. The others nodded.

"Then I guess you'd better get back around the corner," Fordham suggested with a sly grin, as he lowered his helmet and reached into his bag.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The explosion, when it came, was small and well-directed. Smoke billowed everywhere, making the team cough, but the force had blown the door in the opposite direction, and the way was finally clear. Danny peered through the swirling clouds of grey, to see Fordham standing on top of the flattened door, like a triumphant gladiator waiting for approval.

Clearly, Flack thought the same. "Thumbs up," he choked.

"Thanks." Fordham grinned. "After you..."

In the end, it was Rowd who bolted forward and took the lead, waving his hand in front of his face to clear the smoke away. Flack and Danny followed close upon his heels, with the rest of the team behind them. Everyone was wary. No one knew what to expect. In his head, Danny found himself running a montage of clichés, garnered from 60's spy films - all flashing lights and rolling tape decks, supervised by anonymous, white-clad scientists.

The reality was very different.

Peering through the cracked glass of the sliding doors that led to the clean room, he saw three huge walls full of screens, each one displaying a different part of the building. There were no keyboards. Nor were there any chairs, or desks, or any other signs of human comfort.

_We really are in the mind of the machine,_ he realised, with a jolt of horror.

Instead of his movie-scientists, there were only two people in the room. Both of them had frozen in the act of clambering up from the floor, where the explosion had clearly thrown them. They stared in absolute horror at the invading group...

...and Danny stared back.

He knew them both.

One was Robin Farraday. No surprise there, he realised.

It was his first glimpse of the other figure that made him feel utterly sick.

Grace Adachi.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: Did you guess?**

**More from our heroes very soon (including Mac). Hope you enjoyed this chapter - my longest so far. Thanks to all those who reviewed the last one, and to Lily and Farmgirl, as always.**


	35. Chapter 35

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"Ginny!" said Mr. Weasley, flabbergasted. "Haven't I taught you anything? What have I always told you? Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain." (J.K. Rowling)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Thirty Five **

Inside Danny's head, so many thoughts were clamouring for attention that his mind felt beseiged. Ever since the explosion that had separated him from Mac and Adam, one fact, and one fact alone, had been straightforward. Marcus Thorne was the villain of the piece. Every path led back to him. His tower, his traps and his pet computer. But now it seemed that things were far more complicated. Staring through the glass at the impossible figure, Danny's grasp on reality began to slip.

Grace's look of horror turned to one of satisfaction. She smiled to see his confusion.

_Wish I had a gun..._

"What's the matter?" Flack said sharply, fingers tightening on the handle of his own weapon, which he had drawn before they even entered the room.

Danny shifted on the balls of his feet, never once wrenching his eyes away from the woman's face. "She's dead."

"Who's dead?" Rowd stood on the other side of him, also armed and wary.

"Meet Grace Adachi," he told them grimly. "Mother of Anna. Recently deceased. As in 'crushed beneath a pile of rubble'. Leaving nothing but a shoe and a shiny brooch. Oh - and a grieving daughter..."

Grace bowed. Danny wrenched the sliding door out of his way, dislodging the cracked sheet of safety glass entirely and sending it crashing to the floor like a shower of diamonds.

"Don't you dare!" he shouted. "Don't you dare..."

"Danny!" Flack was right behind him. His hand reached out and settled on Danny's shoulder. It was more than a warning.

"I'm not..." Danny muttered, unclenching his good hand which had formed a tight fist. "I wouldn't hurt her. You know that." He stared at Grace's eyes, which were wide now, and full of alarm. _I did that,_ he thought, and frowned.

Rowd slipped round behind her and cuffed her hands together. She squirmed, but did not pull away. _She doesn't care..._ Danny realised. What kind of monster was this? How could she be so cold-hearted? Anger burned inside him, mingled with disgust. He wanted to know; to force the answers from her. To make her explain.

_Soon,_ he promised silently, taking a deep breath to calm himself. _Very soon..._

Right now, there were far more urgent questions to ask than 'why'.

Farraday, meanwhile, was bobbing nervously in the background, bony fingers stretching up high in a gesture of submission. His face was waxy with fear and he seemed to be counting the number of armed and angry men in the room.

"Who's he?" Flack said. "You know him?"

Danny recognised an attempt at distraction when he heard it. Right now, he couldn't even bear to look at Grace any more, so he played along willingly.

"That's the Bird Guy. Mr. Robin Farraday, building liaison. Guess he 'liaised' himself into a whole mess of trouble when he hooked up with _her_." Danny stalked up to the man and jabbed his chest with an angry finger. "Unless it was all your idea?" The sneer on his face implied that he very much doubted it.

"Mine? No! Oh, no." Farraday stared over Danny's shoulder and swallowed, making his sharp adam's apple lurch up and down in his throat above his bow tie. "Does he have to point that gun at me?" he grumbled, ducking his head to try and avoid Flack's gaze. "I surrendered. I'm perfectly harmless. Surely you can see that?"

Flack snorted. Farraday looked offended.

"I could help you..." he offered slyly. An ugly, wheedling tone crept into his voice. "Make a deal?"

"You've been watching too many cop shows," Flack scoffed - but Danny was closer and he had caught the gleam in Farraday's eye.

"You remember me, don't you?" he said. "And my friends? From the party?"

"I do."

"Don!" Danny's plea was passionate. He couldn't help himself.

"You know where they are?" Betraying nothing of his own emotion, Flack moved closer and lowered the gun, just a fraction.

"I do..." Farraday began to look distinctly smug.

Flack gestured around the room. Already, Fordham, Roake and the junior agent were scanning the screens, one man to each wall.

"And what's to keep us from finding them ourselves?" he demanded. "Seems pretty simple to me."

"Oh, but you can't. They're in the one place where Yūrei's eyes are not allowed to go."

"The one place?" Danny said carefully.

"Yes." The liaison folded his arms. At last, control was back within his claw-like grasp.

"In the whole building?"

"Yes."

"Thorne's apartment, then...?"

"Why - yes..." Farraday's confident stance began to wobble.

_They made it, _Danny thought, full of disbelief. How on earth...?

"No eyes," Flack said, his mind on the practical, as always. "So we can't see them - fine. Can we talk to them..?"

"It's complicated," Farraday began - until he caught sight of Flack's expression and threw up his hands once more. "No problem..." he gasped. "Only, please stop pointing that dreadful gun in my direction. How do you expect me to think clearly if I'm in fear of my life?"

"The same way that _we_ had to," Danny growled, making him shrivel. "Or haven't you been watching?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mac felt strangely peaceful.

Beyond the shadows of his secret world, he could hear the hum of distant voices. At first they had been raised in fear and anger; sending waves of borrowed hurt crashing through his skull. There had been another sound too; percussive, and bright like the warped kaleidoscope that came before a migraine. But gradually the tension had receded and an overwhelming sense of calm began to envelop him at last. The ache in his head flowed out to the edges and left a void where he could rest and be free.

Nor was he alone there.

Faces came and went, shards of memory that brought him comfort. Some were bright and some were hazy. Two were painful to bear at first; a woman and an older man, with their echoes of love and loss - but that only made them more precious. Adam was a constant presence. Mac felt safe with him nearby; and that surprised him. Like twin spirits, kindness and loyalty passed through the veil between them and gave him strength as he tried to draw the splintered pieces of himself back together.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Divide and conquer. That was Adam's plan. It seemed wise in his head - but the only leadership experience that he could truthfully claim belonged to the imaginary world of role-playing games. Valuable to some extent, perhaps, but not entirely practical. If only Mac had been awake, and able to advise him. But Adam's decision to refrain from shooting Thorne had given him a deeper confidence in his own instincts and so he took a deep breath and began to move his pieces around the room, making sure that each one followed his quiet instructions.

His first thought had been to shut Marcus Thorne in a room on his own and leave him there, setting Jeremy Carter to act as a guard on the door. The safest move, no doubt, and the most appealing - but even as Adam opened his mouth to give the order, reason whispered in his ear and offered an alternative. He paused - and considered.

When you had limited resources, it was better to use them wisely. Thorne was insane; no doubt about that. But he was also the only person in the room who stood any chance of interacting with Yūrei and convincing it... her?... to let them go. Which meant that the best place for him was back at the keyboard.

Thorne groaned and whimpered endlessly about broken bones and brutal savages, but Adam stoutly ignored him. Nearby, Carter's face wore a shadow of his former tigerish grin - forcing Adam to rethink yet another part of his plan. Put Carter too close to Thorne and who knew what he might do in an unguarded moment? Hoping against hope that his trust in her would not be turn out to be misplaced, he took another risk and chose Arabella to guard and assist her brother. To Adam's relief, she was instantly compliant; her bright eyes full of respect. Carter frowned, but the gun in Adam's blood-stained hands was a strong argument and nobody else in the room cared to stand up against it.

Feeling a sudden surge of wickedness, Adam then ordered Carter into the kitchen with instructions to forage for something to eat and drink. The frown morphed into a sullen glare - but Carter did as he was told, crashing mugs and slamming cupboards in an effort to relieve his temper.

Which left only the eerily-silent Miss Yamada. Standing primly in the centre of the room, she waited without a single word for Adam to decide her actions. Was she so used to doing as she was told that she could barely think for herself? Adam felt more than a little disconcerted by her steady gaze. No - not obedient. This was a woman who watched and considered, and chose her moments carefully. Dangerous, then. Potentially, the most dangerous person in the room. He could not tell what was going on behind her dark eyes, and that scared him.

_Keep your friends close - and your enemies closer..._

"What do you know about first-aid?" he ventured, finally.

"Enough." Miss Yamada's shrug was delicate; graceful, even.

The thought of her so near to him, touching him; tending to his injury when he could not even trust her enough to turn his back on her... it was almost unbearable. But what choice did he have?

Sending Miss Yamada into the bathroom to search for medical supplies, Adam dropped to his knees beside Mac, with the gun still clutched in his aching hands and a vague fear in his mind that somewhere, somehow, he had allowed a flaw to creep into his strategy.

Afraid to drop his guard for even a moment, he risked a sideways glance at Mac's quiet face - and started.

Was he... smiling?

"Boss," he whispered. "Mac. Oh, please, can you hear me?"

No reply. But Mac shifted quietly on the couch, and the ghost of a smile grew stronger on his lips. His face was drawn, and his eyes were closed, yet there was a peaceful air about him that gave Adam courage, and hope. If they could just hold on...

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Farraday, subservient and highly nervous, led Flack and Danny through the control room to the far end, where there was a hidden booth containing one large screen. Stella had already warned Flack about the 'little girl ghost' that seemed to be running things but, even so, his first sight of Yūrei's face had been a disconcerting one. "That's just plain creepy," he muttered, and Danny agreed with him.

To his great relief, as Farraday reached out and jabbed his finger at the screen, connecting with the image of Yūrei's left ear, the haunting face disappeared, to be replaced by a straightforward list of options. Farraday worked quickly. A dizzying array of commands rolled by. His fingers moved up and down, tapping here and there, until at last he nodded to Flack. "Speak now," he said.

"What - just speak?"

Farraday sighed at his lack of understanding.

"No microphone, detective. Yūrei can hear you. Say what you need to say."

Feeling rather foolish, Flack spoke his message to the room at large. With nothing else to focus on, he stared at the screen before him as though, by doing so, he could force Yūrei to conjure up the reply that he longed for.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Thorne gave a squeal and pushed his chair back from the keyboard, striking his sister in the process and making her stumble.

"Adam!" she cried.

Adam shot to his feet and raised the gun, full of fear and suspicion.

And then he heard it.

His jaw dropped and a feeling brighter than a golden sunrise filled his chest.

"NYPD," said a voice from the screen. "Is anyone there? Mac? Ross...?" Yūrei's face still gazed down upon them - but Adam would have known the speaker anywhere. No 'angel', but a miracle all the same.

Detective Flack.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Moments passed.

"This isn't working," Danny grumbled.

Flack bit his tongue and swallowed the smart remark that lingered there. The man deserved a little patience. So far, Danny had only dropped a few hints about his experience in the nightmare world above their heads, but they were bad enough to make Flack's stomach churn.

"Wait," Farraday insisted.

Right on cue, a strange voice, tight with fury, cut through the booth from somewhere above their heads. "Get out," it said. "You have no right to trespass in my home."

"Are you _kidding_ me?" Danny hissed under his breath. Flack turned to the bird-like liaison.

"Mr. Thorne, I presume?" he muttered. Farraday nodded.

Clearing his throat, Flack continued.

"Mr. Thorne," he said. "This is Detective Flack of the NYPD. We have every right to be here, I'm afraid."

Thorne's next words were rather confusing. "No. I'm not moving - hey! Ow!"

"Um... sorry about that," a new voice said breathlessly. "Hey, Detective Flack. It's so good to hear your voice."

"Adam?" Flack said in amazement. "What did you just do?"

"Wha..? Oh - no, not me." Adam's giggle was music to their ears. "That was Arabella. She's got moves..."

"Okay..." Bewildered, Flack tried to piece the puzzle together. "And Arabella is...?"

"Long story," Danny intervened. "Longer that I could have guessed," he added. "Buddy - how you doin'?"

"Danny?!" Adam's tone was joyful.

"Yeah," he mumbled, bashful all of a sudden. "Made it. Your turn now."

"Thank God..." The young man's relief was heartfelt. Flack knew exactly what that meant.

"How's Mac?" he asked carefully.

"Oh." Adam paused and Flack could picture him weighing his words. "He's... resting."

"Resting?"

"Sleeping, I think. Look, I'm fine - we're all fine here; the rest of us, anyway. But you need to get Mac out as quickly as you can. Like, now. I'm not joking, okay? We're in Thorne's apartment..."

"I know," Flack reassured him.

"...and there's a way down from the roof. Some kind of lift... Wait - you know? Hey, where _are_ you guys, exactly?"

"We're in the control room."

"You are? Then you can let us out!" The trust in Adam's voice was almost painful to hear.

"Adam. We're in the room." Danny cautioned. "We're not in control. Not yet, anyway. But we do have a plan - so hang in there, buddy. Can you do that? Are you safe?"

"Safe?" He laughed; an odd sound - high and humourless. "I guess so. I've got the gun... What's your plan?"

"You've got the...?" Flack shook his head in disbelief. "Never mind. You're doin' good, Ross. We're on our way - that's all you need to remember. Hold tight and we'll be there before you know it."

"'Kay," said the small voice on the other end.

"See you soon, buddy," Danny called out, watching Flack make a slicing motion with his hand across his throat. _Cut the feed._ Farraday moved to obey - and Adam was gone.

With the flourish of a magician, Flack reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper.

"What's that?" Farraday asked, full of suspicion.

"This," Flack said, "is the Plan." He grinned. "But I don't think you're gonna like it. No more 'liaising' for you. Time to wave bye-bye to your precious Yūrei..."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed it! More soon... **

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and to Farmgirl and Lily for their support.**

**LATER NOTE: Thank you to TazFireShadow. Your review was very helpful. It really made me think and I have made a couple of slight changes to this chapter which should hopefully cure the 'hiccup'.**


	36. Chapter 36

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"Hope is the expectation that something outside of ourselves, something or someone external, is going to come to our rescue and we will live happily ever after." (Dr. Robert Anthony)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Thirty Six**

To Lindsay, pacing up and down in the AV lab, it felt as though they had been waiting in the dark for hours; hearing nothing and knowing only what they had managed to piece together from fragments on the news, brief messages from Jessica Angell, and their own restricted exploration of Yūrei's network. And yet, when the moment finally came, it slipped right past them like a thief in the night; nothing more than a few lines of code and a simple flashing phrase. Jake had left the room for less than two minutes to swallow down the first drink he had allowed himself all evening, and Mori was poring over the last few pages of Rudy Nash's notebook, scribbling steadily on a piece of paper. Stella appeared to be arguing with herself in a shadowy corner of the lab. The first that anyone knew of Flack's success was a noise that made them all jump; the ringing of Stella's cell phone.

"Check your screen," Flack told her cheerfully, when she snatched it to her ear. The sound of his voice was like a birthday wish come true.

She shared a glance with Lindsay and nodded. They rushed to the computer, startling both Mori, who sat nearby, and Jake, who was just re-entering the lab.

"There it is," Lindsay breathed, her shaking finger pointing to the magical words.

_Link established. System ready._

"I take it the phones are back on line," Stella quipped, with a smile on her face that filled Lindsay's heart with shared delight.

"What gave it away?"

Switching to 'speaker', Stella let everyone in on their conversation.

"Yes," Flack continued. "We had some... well, I guess you'd call it _unexpected_ help. Rudy Nash's password did the rest." There was a smugness to his words that made Lindsay smile as she pictured Flack, the quintessential jock, delighted by his successful foray into the world of the science-guys.

The next voice brought her even more happiness.

"Stella?" Danny said. "Lindsay there? Think you could tell her I'm safe?"

"You just did." The crack in Lindsay's voice was unintentional, and she flushed to be so transparent in front of her colleagues. Beside her, Stella gave an understanding smile.

Sliding back into his seat, Jake rattled away at the keyboard, tapping in code after code from a sheet on the desk in front of him. "It's true," he murmured as he worked. "Complete access. We can shut everything down... What do you want me to do?"

Flack had his own list. "Remove the lockdown. Pull the shutters back and disable all the traps. Get the elevators working as quickly as possible."

"What about Yūrei?" Lindsay ventured. "Won't she... _it_ try to stop us?"

"Unlikely." The detective's voice was suddenly grim. "Turns out our little girl ghost wasn't running the show after all. She had help - and it wasn't friendly. But we've fixed that..."

Lindsay frowned as she tried to understand his words. Meanwhile, Stella broke in with an urgent question of her own. They both feared the answer. "Mac...?"

Don hesitated. _That can't be good, _Lindsay thought.

"Still with Adam Ross. In Thorne's apartment, of all places. We need to get him out of there, Stell. Time's up - that's what Ross says. Chopper to the roof is his thought, but I don't know. Building that high, I'd be worried about the cross-winds. Not to mention the fact that Ross said something hazy about having a gun. Don't know what's been going on up there, but I can't have paramedics breaking into a potentially hazardous situation without an armed escort. Think you can get the emergency services to the front door? We'll do the rest."

"Of course. In fact, I'll do better than that," Stella told him. "I'm on my way right now. And you can't stop me." Her tone was light, as though she were joking with him, but her intent was serious.

"Guess that's true." Flack's voice held only warm approval. At this point, he would have expected nothing less.

_Dammit. _Lindsay wished that she had been the one to offer. Seeing Danny and the other two men safe again was the dearest wish of her heart. But Stella's pain had been fever-bright all evening. "You should go," she nodded, full of resignation. "I'll stay here with Jake..."

"No." Sheldon stepped into the room. His face was eager and his eyes were smiling kindly. "I can do that."

There were no words for Lindsay to express the depth of her gratitude - but she knew that he could see it in her own eyes as she returned his smile and nodded, full of relief.

_I'm coming, Danny._

The sight of Sheldon seemed to have jogged Stella's memory. "Don," she said urgently, "there's something else I need to tell you. It's about Nash's murder..."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Yes." Danny's voice shook unaccountably as he peered at the narrow screen. Keeping his sentences short, he hid his emotion behind an exaggerated gruffness. "That's Maya and Jane. Good job."

Fordham grinned. "Looks like that one's telling stories to pass the time."

Sure enough, Jane's slim hands were moving gracefully and her pale face was animated as she spoke at length to her injured friend. Maya was harder to see and appeared to be motionless until, as the men watched, she gave a slight twitch of discomfort that made Danny sigh with utter relief.

Still alive.

Their lonely fate had been a terrible nagging fear in the back of his mind. But now it seemed that, after all, he really had made the right decision.

"You wanna go get 'em?"

Danny jumped. Flack had crept up behind him quietly and was looking over his shoulder. Farraday hovered in the background, neatly cuffed and delivered to Roake, who seemed less than happy with his new assignment.

"Hey! Don't you start that. Mac's bad enough..." Danny faltered as a grim thought pushed aside the humorous one. "I should come with you," he mumbled.

"No need. The girls are on their way. I'll take Stella. You can have Lindsay." Tilting his head, Flack studied his friend, whose expression was carefully blank. "And then, of course, we've got the FBI's finest over there," he added quietly.

The three men turned as one and stared at Rowd, who had shackled Grace Adachi to the shattered door frame by now. He stood beside her, a stone-faced guardian, daring anyone to steal his treasure.

"Useful, isn't he?" Fordham murmured.

"If he thinks he's keeping her, then he's very much mistaken." To anyone that knew him, Flack's innocent shrug was a sure sign that something far more devious was going on inside his head. "I'm just sayin'. There's an interrogation room back at the precinct with her name on."

"And one for Thorne?" Danny asked him.

"If he makes it that far," Flack said. Was he joking? Even Danny couldn't tell.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You're here!"

In spite of her best efforts to remain professional, Jessica Angell's face lit up with joy as she caught sight of the two CSIs pushing through the crowd. They flashed their badges to the nearest officer and strode across to join her. She could see at once that their anxiety was just as great as her own. The curse of waiting. "Flack called ahead. He's on his way to the front door. Whatever you did to the system, it worked like a charm. The shutters rolled back ten minutes ago, and every trap in the building seems to have been disarmed. Locks, too, far as we can tell. Freedom of movement guaranteed. We can get everyone out, thanks to you."

"Have the paramedics arrived?" From the abruptness of her question, it was clear that there was one thought uppermost in Stella's mind. Jess felt a twinge of pity.

"Round the block. They're just unloading their equipment. They'll be here in a minute."

"How many people do we still need to rescue?" Lindsay's measured words seemed to bring Stella back down to earth, her bright eyes showing that she was also keen to hear the answer.

"Two young women at the site of the explosion. One of them is injured - we're not sure how badly. Two young men were trapped in a room on the 40th floor. Flack spotted them on the screen. Doesn't look as though they're hurt, but their pride might be a little wounded. Messer rescued three in total - they're on their way out now - and the entry team found one near the back door." She took a deep breath, and continued. "We count two bodies so far. As for the rest of the people stranded in the building, they're invisible. Which seems to imply that they're all together, in Thorne's apartment. Detective Taylor, Ross, two other party-goers... Thorne himself, at a guess..."

"I'd like to meet _him_," Stella muttered, much to Jess's sharp amusement.

"I'd like that too," she agreed, trading glances with Lindsay.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was Jeremy Carter who noticed that Miss Yamada had mysteriously disappeared.

Emerging from the kitchen in a calmer frame of mind, he was handing around mugs of lukewarm, dirty-looking coffee when he suddenly gave a start. "That quiet one. Where's she gone?"

Adam frowned. The last that he had seen of her was when she had flung a first aid kit at him ten minutes ago and murmured something along the lines of 'do it yourself' - only far less polite. After that, she had retreated into a corner with a sulky expression on her face. He had been so relieved to be free of her presence that he hadn't bothered to pay her any more attention.

Big mistake.

The first aid kit had been useless anyway. Only a couple of band-aids and some cotton wool. A pair of tweezers and a finger bandage. What good was that to man or beast, unless they had the mother of all splinters? Armed with only a couple of tea towels and a bowl of water, Arabella had helped Mac far more effectively following their arrival. At least he was cleaner and more comfortable. Removing the makeshift bandage here and now would be a big mistake - even Adam knew that. What else could he do, then, apart from stay close and watch Mac like a hawk, offering comfort and hoping that his words could be heard or, at the very least, his presence felt? Not for the first time, Adam wished obliquely that he could somehow, magically, turn into Sheldon or Sid, or at least tap into their wealth of knowledge. Perform a miracle and save the day.

Save his boss.

_But I'm __**not**__ them. I'm just Adam._

Sighing deeply, he had tried to fashion some kind of protection for his own wound. To stop himself bleeding all over the floor, his clothes, the gun... basically everything. As he knelt beside Mac, in the midst of a pile of stained cotton balls and mangled band aids, he muttered dark words to his unconscious boss about the stupidity of billionaires who locked themselves up in a giant box for safety but completely failed to plan for the little emergencies of life.

And then Carter dropped his bombshell.

Everyone froze. Even Thorne looked startled.

"Bathroom?" Arabella suggested, tentatively. But the door to the bathroom was wide open and there was nobody inside. Nor was Miss Yamada in any of the other side-rooms.

Sticking his head into the corridor that led to the back door and eventually the rooftop, Carter gave a low cry of annoyance.

"It's open," he said.

"What?" Adam gasped.

"The door. The way out. Sneaky woman - she must have slipped right past us. So much for 'apartment sealed'."

_Detective Flack,_ Adam thought, with joy. Had he managed to release them?

And then came another thought; a cold and mean idea, which stole his happiness away and made him shudder.

What now?

He had the only weapon. Did that mean he should try and keep them all in the room together? Be the cop and save the day? Could he even _do_ that? Surely the others could tell that he was never going to use the gun against them. Miss Yamada, for one, had been spectacularly unafraid. And now Thorne himself was rising to his feet, inching closer to the door where Carter stood, arms folded.

_This could get ugly,_ Adam realised. "What do I do?" he whispered, praying that Mac would answer.

His boss gave a tiny groan, and shifted on the couch. Adam held his breath...

Nothing.

He stared at Mac's quiet face, letting his eyes trace the features that he knew so well, though he rarely saw them in repose. As he did so, the answer came to him after all - a truth so obvious that it was blindingly simple; a moment of sheer relief.

This man, right here. He was Adam's priority.

How could anything else be more important? Let Thorne and Miss Yamada go to the roof - or to the devil if they wanted to.

Peace filled Adam. He reached for Mac's hand and held it tightly. Around him, the scene played on.

"Going somewhere?" Carter said to Thorne.

Apparently, the thought of escape had given the billionaire a tiny dose of courage; though his body language showed that he was still wary of the man who had given him such a beating. "It's my tower," he snapped. "I can go anywhere I like."

"Of course you can." Carter shrugged. "So can I, for that matter. Think I might join you. I feel like a little fresh air. A dazzling view of the city. Bet it gets windy up there on the rooftop, though," he continued. There was an ominous edge to his voice. "_Really _windy."

Adam's mouth fell open in shock. He looked up and caught the inventor's eye, horrified by the implication. Carter gave a sly wink.

But Thorne didn't see it.

"You wouldn't!" he gasped.

"Wouldn't what?" Carter asked, teeth bared in a smile that was anything but innocent.

"Marcus," Arabella told her brother firmly, "sit down. And don't be an ass. Your fancy woman may have run away, but you're not leaving. Face up to what you've done, for once in your life." She, too, was staring at Carter, eyebrows raised - _in disgust?_ Adam wondered. _Or appreciation...?_ Her words were kind - far kinder than Thorne deserved - and full of reason. Yet, in the end, it was fear that made her scowling brother turn around and stomp back to his seat. From then on, he spoke to no one; only curled in on himself and glowered at his feet in a manner that was most alarming. Adam could sense the bitterness welling up inside him, like a poison in his veins.

And now a strange kind of silence stole over the room. Eyes flicked back and forth, and muscles twitched, but nobody moved. "Feels like a dentist's waiting room," Adam whispered to Mac. "Something's coming, and we know it's for our own good, but we're kind of nervous all the same." _Even me,_ he thought. How odd that was. The whole night had been like a dream - no, a nightmare. Yet he had been trapped in this world for so long that he was almost afraid of release, and how he would cope with it. The intrusion of reality. The flash and the bang of Flack's incursion. Noise and people; hospitals and explanations... Old fears...

_Help for Mac,_ he told himself stoutly. _Don't forget that._

His own plan was to find a quiet corner and curl up there for a while.

After all, it had worked in the past.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Outside the door to Thorne's apartment, Stella gazed around at the jumbled books and fallen shelves in bewilderment. The giant known as Mortimer had led them this far, up in the elevator and then through a muddling array of rooms and corridors. Now he hung back, wide-eyed and wary. Flack was in the lead position, armed and tense. Behind him was Captain Fordham. An FBI agent was also with them, young but clearly capable. Behind them all, three paramedics waited with a gurney and as much equipment as they could carry. No one knew what they would see when they burst through into the room beyond.

Stella feared the worst - and was angry at herself for doing so.

Flack's fingers counted down: _three... two... one..._ "NYPD!" he called out.

"FBI!" the agent added, clinging to protocol like a burr to a dog's tangled coat.

_CSI. Emergency services. The cavalry..._ Stella thought wildly.

A minute passed, during which there was silence. She stared at the coded lock on the door. Had Jake disarmed this one too, or was it on a separate system? It was blinking as though it expected them to input some kind of password. A password that they didn't have, unfortunately...

Just then, a phone rang. Flack jumped, and glanced around at the rest of his makeshift team with a guilty expression. "Mine," he said, pulling it out of his pocket. "Oh, God..."

Stella leaned over and gasped. She couldn't help herself. The name on the screen read 'Mac Taylor'.

Answering at once, Flack keyed the speaker.

The voice on the other end didn't belong to Mac - but it _was_ familiar.

"Kitten," it said. Quite possibly the strangest greeting Stella had ever heard. Even from Adam.

"Come again?" Flack's face was a picture.

In her mind, she could see Adam blushing as he strove to explain more clearly. "Um... sorry. I mean... it's the code, Detective Flack. For the door. The word you're looking for is 'Kitten'."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

There were no words to describe Flack's feelings as he led the way into Thorne's apartment. His quick eyes took in the whole scene at once:

A kilted young man with a line of ear studs that was quite alarming, who stared at them defensively. Trying to seem bold when, in truth, Flack could see his hands shaking. No threat.

A woman dressed in some kind of weird-coloured party dress and shawl, sitting with her arms wrapped tightly around her body and a look of weary resignation on her face. No threat.

A small man, perched beside her, his fingernails clawing at his cheeks and a look of panic in his eyes as he watched the team break in. _If I was a betting man... which I am, _Flack thought, _I'd lay odds on that one being Marcus Thorne. _

Crazy billionaire, with a penchant for death traps?

Threat.

And then his eyes came to rest on the last two people in the room, and he stopped dead in his tracks, assessment forgotten. Stella swept past him; moved, in the same way that he was frozen, by fear and compassion.

Ross looked like hell. His face was bruised and his hands were stained with red. Yet there was also a stubborn tilt to his jaw that was somehow reassuring, and his eyes were clear as he telegraphed his silent message to the detective. _Thank you..._ Mac's phone and a small gun lay beside him, in the midst of what looked like a first-aid explosion.

Stepping forward at last, Flack gently removed the gun from Adam's possession and made it safe.

He also took a closer look at Mac.

His friend was lying on a set of leather blocks, eyes closed, with some kind of crazy floral bandage wrapped around his temple, covered in dry blood. He looked sick and pale - but as Flack continued to watch, he saw that Mac's chest was moving up and down; more steadily than he would have expected, given the state of the man. And so he dared to hope.

Stella dropped to her knees next to Mac and reached out to touch him. Beside her, Ross's curly head fell and his shoulders bowed in sudden release. Laying her hand on his arm, she gave him a reassuring squeeze.

"Stella - I'm so sorry..." he murmured hoarsely.

"Not your fault, Adam," she responded, with a shadow of her usual bright smile, before turning her attention back to Mac.

Fordham and the FBI agent spread out to check the rest of the apartment. When they nodded, Flack gave the all-clear and ushered the paramedics into the room, directing them straight to the man who needed them the most.

Then he rounded on Marcus Thorne.

"Get out," hissed the billionaire, who had worked himself into a frenzy of fear. "Get out, get out, get out..."

The brightly-coloured woman tried to calm him but he slapped her away and started to rock on his chair, resuming his mantra. "Get out, get out..."

"You've gotta be kidding me," Flack groaned.

Pausing, Thorne fixed him with a beady eye. Suddenly, he lunged up out of his seat in a violent surge and flung himself at the detective. "Get out!" he screamed, as he scratched and clawed like a wild thing.

Fury had given Thorne strength, but he was small and so, in the end, the advantage lay with Flack, who pinned his arms to his sides and drove him back into his chair. The woman, who seemed to claim some kind of bond with Thorne, looked on, aghast.

_Do I arrest him,_ Flack thought bleakly, wincing as he dabbed at the nailmarks on his face. _Or commit him?_

Either way, Thorne's obvious fear was about to be realised.

He was leaving the Tower. Right now, in handcuffs or a straitjacket - Flack didn't care.

Safe to say that he wouldn't be coming back.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: The next update will be the last one and should be up by Sunday evening at the latest. (I've a lot of loose ends to tie up - and a broken Detective to fix!)**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I'm still blown away by the number of people who have taken the time to comment on this story. I never expected so many! Thanks to 1917farmgirl and Lily Moonlight who are always so supportive.**

**Hope you enjoyed this extra long installment. **


	37. Chapter 37

**THE LABYRINTH**

**A/N: This chapter grew so much that I decided to split it. Chapter 38 is shorter and will follow straight away. Enjoy!**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"Everything has to come to an end, sometime." (L. Frank Baum)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Thirty Seven**

A fuss and a flurry, and Mac was gone. Out of the door on a gurney, with Stella and two paramedics. Watching them leave, Adam felt an inexplicable wave of loneliness wash over him. He stood in the centre of the room and fingered his freshly bandaged hand as he wondered what to do. He could have gone with Stella - wanted to, really - but somehow that felt too intrusive. The real world had entered with a vengeance, just as he knew it would, and all that remained of the dream were tattered memories. Most of those, he would be glad to lose - but one he clung to. A quiet stairwell and a heartfelt conversation. That moment, Adam knew he would never forget. In the midst of his uncertainty, it made him stronger.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped across the room and waited quietly beside Detective Flack, who was supervising Thorne's arrest - a tricky business, involving Fordham, the FBI agent _and_ the last remaining paramedic. Ever since his violent outburst, the billionaire had retreated deep within himself once more. This made him less of a threat - but far more difficult to manoeuvre as he gave no help but was, instead, quite limp in their fumbling arms. And the gurney had already gone. Flack looked tired, Adam thought. It was going to be a long and awkward journey back to the ground floor.

The last thing that the detective needed was something else to worry about.

_Oh dear._

"Detective Flack?" Adam ventured at last, when the other man failed to notice him.

Flack spun round. "Hey - sorry, Ross. You still here? Didn't you go with Stella?"

_Oh,_ thought Adam, feeling vaguely guilty. "No. I... wasn't sure. If you needed me. You know, to report? There's something else I have to tell you."

"Okay..." Flack turned to give Adam his full attention as Thorne was finally manhandled out of the door. Arabella followed close behind her brother, shattered but determined not to leave him. Adam watched her go.

_Family,_ he sighed, with quiet understanding.

Carter shadowed the group, a lone figure; loping along with a weary stride. Just before they moved out of sight completely, Adam saw him step up and take Arabella's arm in an unexpected gesture of support.

"Well?" Flack hinted.

Adam's eyes slid back to the detective's face. He could see worry in the depths of Flack's blue eyes - for Mac, he guessed. Easy to spot, as it mirrored his own so well.

"There was another person in here with us. When you guys unsealed the room, she left. I think she's gone up to the roof."

"Good guy or bad guy?" Flack asked.

Adam frowned. "I don't... I'm not really sure. She seemed to be Thorne's girlfriend or something. Kind of creepy - she didn't say much. That's how she managed to slip away. Her name is Miss Yamada."

"Really? The architect?" All at once, Flack's face grew bright. That puzzled Adam, but he pushed on with his explanation.

"I'm so sorry - I needed to stay with Mac. I had the gun, but..."

"Adam." Now he knew that Flack could see the root of his worry. Guilt, as always, wrapping its ugly tendrils around his thoughts. "You're not a cop. You weren't supposed to keep them here." The detective lowered his voice. "You were supposed to stay alive. You and Mac. Means you did good - okay?"

"But Mac..."

"Is going to be fine. You know it. He's a fighter, just like you."

A fighter. _No one's ever called me that before..._ Soft, maybe. Crazy, even.

Adam flushed with sudden pride.

Flack nodded. _Job done,_ said his satisfied expression.

"Don't you worry about our Miss Yamada," he said. "There's no way off that roof. When you mentioned it before, I put in a call. Thorne's private helicopter? Grounded. All she's gonna find up there is wind, and an impressive view. Until we fetch her down, of course. Can't say she'll be happy when we do..."

Adam giggled. He couldn't help it.

"Come on," Flack added, smiling as he laid a friendly hand on Adam's back. "Let's get you to the hospital."

Which made him blanch - until he remembered that Mac would be there too.

_Plenty of quiet corners..._

Adam began to form a plan of his own.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Stella didn't even know that she had drifted off until a noise disturbed her and she jerked awake again, sitting bolt upright in her chair. The room was dimly lit and peaceful. Sunlight filtered through the blinds. Rubbing her tired eyes, she tried to work out what it was that had roused her. Easy to guess why she had fallen asleep in the first place. When had she last stepped foot in her apartment, let alone her bedroom? Yet, even now, going home was not an option. Not until she knew...

"He's going to be okay," she told herself firmly, stretching her cramped arms and glaring at the slumbering figure before her, as though determination alone could bring him back to them. "You are. You know that, don't you, Mac Taylor?"

"Stella..."

Inside her chest, her heart leapt painfully. He had heard her, then.

He was awake.

And now she guessed whose voice it was that had summoned her.

"Mac! Welcome back..." Her greeting trailed away shyly. Why did she feel so ill at ease all of a sudden?

_I'm not used to seeing him like this,_ she realised. Mac was the rock; the one who battled on through every situation. He never faltered - and they had never seen him fall. Now here he lay, bruised and bandaged. Suffering quietly. It was... wrong, somehow.

Words failed her. What could she say to let him know how glad she was - how glad they all would be - to know that he was safe?

"I had a dream," Mac sighed. He spoke as though his tongue were thick and heavy in his mouth. "You were in it... and Adam..."

"You'll be telling me next that there's no place like home."

The tiny uplift of his lips was wonderful to see - until he tried to open his eyes, which were covered. His smile dropped away.

"Still dark," he whispered.

Stella hugged herself for comfort and then felt selfish. Reaching out her hand, she sought his fingers and clasped them firmly.

"Not for long," she said in a bright tone. "The ophthalmologist's taken an initial look and she's hopeful. A few more tests and then she'll see... I mean, know. If the problem is more complicated... If..."

"If it's permanent?" His words were calm, but hollow.

"No!" The urgency of her reply startled even her, and she strove to recover quickly. What a mess she was making of this. _Report, Detective Bonasera. Clear head. Keep it simple._

"I'll tell the nurse that you're awake," she said, forcing lightness back into her voice. "Then the doctor can explain the situation to you properly. I don't have all the details - not yet." _And not for want of trying,_ she thought grimly. "But they did tell me this much. You suffered a concussion when you hit your head, but it was the shockwave from the explosion that damaged your eyes and left you blind. _Temporarily_ blind..."

"I see..."

Was that a joke? So hard to tell. His face was still. With one last squeeze of his hand, Stella rose to her feet.

"Adam?" Mac cried suddenly, as though he had just remembered something very important.

She smiled.

"Down the hall. I saw him a while ago. Flashing those innocent baby-blues of his and trying to sweet-talk his way out of here. You know Adam. Just add hospitals to the list of things that freak him out. But he's fine - okay, Mac?"

"Are you sure?"

Stella was puzzled. "Sure he's there? Yes - where else would he be?"

"Sure he's fine..." Mac lifted his head from the pillow as though he intended to rise.

"Mac Taylor, lie still. You're not going anywhere." Stella folded her arms and gave him her best indignant look. It was wasted on him but it made her feel stronger. "If you're that concerned, I'll go and check."

"Good..." Mac nodded. Clearly, his efforts had tired him out already. "Danny? Others...?" he said sleepily.

"All safe," Stella murmured, watching his head loll. "It's okay, Mac. You can rest now."

With one last, fond glance at her weary boss, she slipped through the door.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Leaving the duty nurse, who had called for Mac's doctor at once before diving into his room with a business-like manner that was quite unnerving, Stella wove her way along the crowded corridor.

"First Adam - then coffee," she promised herself. "Maybe breakfast, too..." People were everywhere; the tidal residue of a typical night in the city. Nurses looked worn-out and harassed. Doctors were rushed off their feet, darting quickly from one case to another, issuing help and advice with an air of distraction. _Easy to get lost in here,_ Stella thought - and then wondered what could have put such an odd idea into her mind.

_Foresight, maybe, _she sighed, as she came to Adam's cubicle.

A mother and a little boy stared back at her. The toddler had a cooking pot rammed on his head. A young nurse was frowning at them blankly, wondering how to proceed.

Of Adam, there was no sign whatsoever.

_I was joking,_ Stella thought crossly, remembering her words to Mac. She turned to the nurse. "Where's the young man who was here before? The one with the gunshot wound to his hand, and severe bruising? His name's Ross - Adam Ross. He was supposed to stay put."

Her question only served to confuse the nurse even further.

"No young man here," she said. "Not for an hour or more. Kids and old folk - that's all I've had. Dozens of 'em."

_Wonderful._ When she found her 'young man', Stella was going to kill him.

Okay - maybe that was a little harsh. The fact of the matter was that Mac had stirred up a worry which already nestled inside her. Quiet words that Adam had spoken in the past; a downcast look to his eye when Mac had shouted at him. His reticence to talk about the hostage situation. All these came together in her mind and she knew, deep down, that there was a reason why he hated hospitals. An ugly reason.

Like a wounded creature, he had followed his instincts and slipped out of sight.

It was his way. She guessed that now.

Stella whisked out of the cubicle, muttering under her breath about bullies and obstinate lab techs.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Adam took a deep breath and stepped in front of the mirror. The first view was always the hardest. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes...

... and gasped.

Could time go backwards?

Swollen cheekbone, damaged hand. Patchwork of bruises. All too familiar. Adam shook his head.

"Could be worse," he told himself, ruefully. Then he looked down at his tuxedo, which he had also liberated as he fled, struggling back into it at top speed before he left the cubicle. No draughty, backless gown should _ever _be part of a master plan. But really, now that he studied it closely, Adam had to admit that the tux looked worse than he did.

Which was saying something...

He cringed at the thought of returning it to the hire shop. Snooty looks and an astronomical fee. The perfect end to a perfect party. "Thank you, Marcus Thorne," he muttered under his breath. "I'd send you the tab but I don't suppose you'd pay it..."

Leaving the billionaire's tower had felt like a plunge into icy cold water. First came the shock of exposure, followed by a creeping numbness. Flack had placed a strong arm around his shoulder, guiding him past the eager throng of voyeurs to a waiting ambulance. That simple display of concern had almost brought him to his knees, though he would never let Flack know it. Still shaking, he had watched the detective's face disappear as the doors were closed. Then Adam was borne away; a stray twig in a swiftly flowing current.

The hospital itself was bedlam. Unknown faces swam past his tired eyes in endless succession. Fingers poked and prodded. Exhaustion meant that Adam appeared calm on the outside - yet, all the while, he was silently vowing to make himself scarce as soon as he was able. The phrase "I'm fine" had lost all meaning, he had used it so many times. A brief yet dazzling visit from Stella had roused him from his stupor. For a moment, he felt almost normal - shy, but happy. Then she was gone, and he had slipped back into his own secret world. In the end, it was the busy nature of the emergency room that had saved him. When the hospital staff moved on to the next case, their reluctant patient had taken his chance and vanished.

Caught up in the memory of his escape, Adam shoved his bow tie carelessly into his pocket and winced. His bandaged palm was stinging and his whole arm ached. So much for painkillers. Right now, he found himself wishing that he had snagged a few more of those jelly beans...

With a heavy sigh, he stared at the mirror-image of his wayward hair, which stood out around his head in a wild halo. Using his fingers as a comb, he tried to tame it but his efforts were in vain and he was forced to admit defeat. Hopefully, no one would look at him twice. One more weary victim of a Friday night in New York City - that was his disguise, and it was perfect. Shrugging off the bloodstained jacket, he folded it neatly and draped it over his injured hand.

Then, taking another deep breath to prepare himself, he opened the bathroom door and stepped out into the busy corridor.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

What to do now? Stella floundered. She was reluctant to leave the hospital and Mac. He had begged her to check on Adam but the lab tech was probably halfway - no, _all _the way home by now. Should she follow him? Or should she respect his need for privacy? All he wanted, she knew, was time to recover his strength and his spirits. Then he could face his friends again. That was an instinct which Stella understood - and in the end, she decided to trust him.

So, instead, she went in search of coffee.

Unlike the emergency room, the hospital cafeteria was almost empty. In the kitchen, she could hear the night staff handing over to the day shift. The clatter of dishes was accompanied by the cheerful sound of an early morning radio show. It was such a normal, everyday sound that it lifted her up, if only for a moment.

With her steaming cup of coffee and a lumpy breakfast muffin - the best of a bad selection - Stella slipped into a plastic seat and rested her elbows on the scrupulously clean formica table.

Weariness took her. The muffin sat before her, untouched. Suddenly, she could not even summon up the strength to lift her cup. It had been such a long, long night...

Resting her chin in her palms, she stared around the cafeteria. There were only two other occupants beside herself. The first was a wizened old man, with a tiny twist of hair and a dazed expression on his face. Perhaps his wife was here? Stella felt a sudden, sympathetic ache for this stranger and his unknown tragedy.

The second person in the room was a woman. And now Stella frowned - because she seemed oddly familiar. Her clothes were wildly eccentric and she wore chopsticks in her hair. A cup of tea sat on the table before her; stone-cold and untouched. Her eyes were red and it was clear that she had been crying. Breaking her heart until she had no more tears left to shed.

Stella couldn't help herself. She rose to her feet, advancing slowly.

"You can tell me if I'm butting in," she said. The woman looked up. "I know you, don't I? You were there."

"I was." No explanation followed. The woman had recognised Stella. That much was obvious.

How to proceed?

Stella was skilled in the art of interrogating suspects, yet she flinched at the thought of confronting this woman's sorrow. She could sense that it ran deep. Never one to turn away from doing or saying the things that she knew to be right, Stella strengthened her resolve and moved closer.

"Mind if I sit down?"

The woman shook her head. Stella dropped to the seat with a sigh.

"Long night."

"The longest."

Holding out her hand, she introduced herself. "Stella Bonasera. Detective. CSI."

"Ah," the woman said. "Another friend of Adam?"

That threw her for a moment. Then she smiled - and the woman smiled back. A good sign.

"Yes," Stella nodded. "I am."

The woman took her offered hand. Her grip was firm, though her fingers trembled.

"Arabella Kazinsky," she said. "Formerly Thorne. Marcus is my brother." There was an edge to her words; a challenge, as though she were waiting to see how Stella reacted.

Not knowing what to say, Stella said nothing. Her kind eyes rested on Arabella's face.

"How _is_ Adam?" Arabella ventured, at last. "And the others? Mac? Poor man, he looked dreadful. And... Danny, isn't it?" Her voice became soft, and her manner distracted. "I'm so sorry..."

"They're fine. They're going to be fine." The more she said it, the more Stella wanted to convince herself that it was true. She tried not to think about the quiet figure in the darkened room, or the empty cubicle. As for Danny, he was safe in Lindsay's capable hands. One out of three... Stella sighed.

"My brother's here just now." Arabella flushed. "In the secure wing. Which is ironic, when you think about it. He's had a complete breakdown. Can't say I'm surprised. He always was unstable, even as a child. Made things terribly hard sometimes. Don't get me wrong - I love him. Just couldn't bear to live with him. When my father died and left us his fortune, we went our separate ways. I married. He didn't. My husband, Piotr - God rest his soul - was a wonderful man, but far too trusting. He lost my inheritance to one bad investment after another. I didn't really care. We were happy, the two of us. Marcus, on the other hand, used his half to build a fortress. He lived his life in fear - and people preyed on that. Miss Yamada." She scowled. "His witch of a girlfriend. The one who designed his death trap... And that pompous idiot, Farraday. How could they let my brother go so far? I can't believe it..."

"Then you knew nothing about his plan?" Stella asked, with caution. "Yūrei? The shutters? The lockdown?"

"I visited his tower for the first time, three days before the party. He showed me around his kingdom with shining eyes, like an eager child, and told me about his ridiculous challenge. He always had a love of games and puzzles. That's what I thought it was... a game, designed to test his computer. If I'd known how dangerous..." She shook her head, unable to finish. "I'm sorry," she said, yet again.

A sudden movement in the doorway made Stella jump. Turning, she saw a dark-suited figure who stared at them both with a frown.

"My new best friend." Arabella sighed. "They say it's for my protection. Until the fuss dies down." Catching Stella's hand once more, she held on tightly for a moment. "Please," she said, full of intensity. "Tell them I'm sorry. The others. Please - will you?"

In her head, Stella tried and rejected the obvious phrases. _There's no need. It's not your fault. I'm sure they'll understand..._ All true, and yet not what Arabella needed to hear.

"I will," she said, as the other woman rose to leave; her bodyguard waiting silently. "I promise."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Adam? Buddy, pick up the phone." Locking eyes with Lindsay, Danny waited. Finally, he sighed. "Are you screening? Look, I know you left the hospital. I swung by to find you after they patched me up..." Once more, he paused. "Not there? Then I guess you're sleeping, right? That's a good thing. Me, I'm down at the precinct - there's something I gotta do first. But after that, I'm coming over. And I'm bringing pizza. Lots of pizza."

_For breakfast?_ Lindsay mouthed. He shrugged, and continued.

"So make sure you're up, or I'll beat down your door with my one good fist. See ya then, buddy."

Ending the call, Danny dropped his shoulders and gave a weary sigh.

"He's fine," Lindsay said. "You know it. Stop worrying, Danny."

"After the last time? No," Danny told her firmly. "I wanna see him." Mac was safe, with Stella watching over him. But Adam? Adam worried him. After all, wasn't that how this whole thing had begun?

"Then go now. Anyway, you must be exhausted. You're running on adrenaline. We can handle this."

"No," he murmured for the second time, peering through the glass as three figures entered the room beyond. At the same time, the door to their own room opened and Anna Adachi walked in, with Alfie Jakes behind her like a faithful puppy.

As soon as Danny saw him, he reacted in a manner that surprised them all. A sly grin crossed his face and he reached out to shake Alfie's hand.

"Nice move," he said. "I'm proud of you. Punching that jackass Drew - who'd have seen that coming? I almost wish I could have done it first. But you earned the right, my friend."

Alfie blushed and lowered his head. His long fringe fell across his eyes.

"I didn't mean to," he admitted. "Talk about losing control."

"And on TV, too," Danny said admiringly. "Those cameras lapped it up. Primetime news footage."

Alfie nodded.

"Bet it felt good, though."

"Yeah..." The young man's voice was low, but pleased. "So, I guess I've quit my job. But I'm glad. He was rude to Anna... Called her - well, I don't like to say it. That wasn't right. He's a jerk. I should have punched him years ago."

Everyone had their trigger, it seemed. Even mild-mannered research assistants. Danny smiled.

Meanwhile, Anna herself was standing in front of the two-way glass. She lifted her fingers and laid them on the window. Her eyes were fixed in one direction and her face was carefully blank.

"I can't believe it," she murmured. "Mother..."

"You don't have to watch," Lindsay told her, softly.

"No. I want to. I need to understand..."

Silently, Danny echoed her sentiment, staring through the glass with eager eyes.

Detective Flack could be a gentleman when he wanted to. But even he refrained from pulling out a chair for Grace Adachi. Rowd, too, was reticent. Both men waited quietly as she took a seat on the opposite side of the table. Their faces were grim - and oddly similar.

"So," Flack said, when she was ready. "Your friend Farraday is in with Detective Angell right now, singing like a little birdie. My advice to you? Do the same."

"I will," Grace said calmly. "I'm happy to talk. I've achieved my goal. You can all see Thorne for the madman he is. The murderous traps were his. I just set them off."

"So you say." Flack pulled out his trump card; the crime that gave him an edge. "How about Rudy Nash?"

"Nash was weak." She shrugged. "An easy target; young and naive. He believed everything I said to him. Words of love, and vengeance. He would have given his life to help me."

"He did," Rowd said, with distaste.

"Yes. He did," she amended. "Regrettable, I suppose. But he knew far too much."

"You used his access and his knowledge to take control of the system? To 'kidnap' Yūrei?"

"Yes." She nodded. "After all the details that I fed him, he hated Thorne as much as I did."

"And Farraday?" Flack persisted.

"Men are weak. He was equally useful. He wanted to see how far his precious computer would go. What it was capable of. I showed him..."

"And your daughter?" The detective cast a glance at the two-way window. Grace caught the look, and gave a careless twitch of her shoulders. Danny shuddered. Anna did the same. She seemed entranced by her mother's words - as though Grace were the wicked queen and she were the princess, captive-bound.

"_His_ daughter," Grace said clearly. "Marcus Thorne. She was never mine, however hard I tried. And believe me, I tried. But it was hopeless. Anna was just like him, with his fanciful ways and his devious intelligence. He brought me to this country - did you know that? A child, barely eighteen, innocent and hopeful." Her eyes grew wide with distant memories.

Flack nodded. Rowd's face was poker straight.

"I was supposed to be his bride. A lonely girl, with no friends or family. We met in Japan, when he travelled there with his family. After his father died, he brought me over, thinking that I would be the perfect match for him. And at first, I was. Obedient, and simple. We made our child together. It was a beautiful moment... and then, out of nowhere, he left me pregnant and heartsick in the gutter, as he ran off with another woman. Missy..." She spat on the table. "The man's insane. No morals..."

_Speak for yourself,_ Danny thought. He could not believe the bitter nonsense that was spewing from this woman's lips. Talk about a sociopath. She had no sense of the wrong that she had done. Every bad deed was laid at Thorne's feet. He was culpable, certainly. But she was far from innocent. A murderer herself, from all that Lindsay had told him.

"You were prepared to risk your daughter's life, to get your revenge?" Rowd asked coolly.

"I was." Yet again, Grace stared at the two-way glass. Anna shrank back, gasping, into Alfie's arms. Danny felt sick. "Years passed by, and I spent them watching and waiting. Finally, my moment came."

"How did you get access to the party?"

"Nash wrote a paper for me. Marcus knew me by a different name - it was easy to fool him. I won the challenge and I took my invitation. Bringing Anna was my secret joke. The rest was easy. Wait for the perfect moment. Fake my death, with Farraday's help, and slip down to the control room. Nash gave me all the codes, and I knew the secret passageways. I wanted everyone to think that Thorne's favourite child - his dreadful computer - was the villain of the piece. That he had created a monster."

_And so he has..._ Danny turned away to share a horrified glance with Lindsay. Her sweet face brought him back to reality - but Grace's ugly voice continued to bore into his head. How could Don stand it?

Bile rose in his throat and he knew that he had to get out of there.

He moved close to Lindsay, and whispered in her ear.

"I'm done," he said. "I can't take any more of this. I'm going to visit Adam. Look after Anna - okay? Could you do that for me?"

"Of course," she said stoutly. "Unless you want me to come with you?"

"Nah. It's fine..." His fond glance said everything that he could not put into words. "But, Montana... can I come to your place later?"

"Of course," she whispered, squeezing his hand. "After I've been to see Mac. Give Adam my love, okay? Tell him..." Her voice trailed away. What message could convey the depths of her concern? Like Danny, she was lost for words.

He smiled at her. "I will..."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: Don't stop! Read on...**


	38. Chapter 38

**THE LABYRINTH**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**"From quiet homes and first beginning,  
**__**Out to the undiscovered ends,  
**__**There's nothing worth the wear of winning,  
**__**But laughter and the love of friends."  
**__**(Hilaire Belloc)**_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter Thirty Eight**

Time passed.

Mac drifted in and out of sleep. His eyes were uncovered once more. After making her final assessment, the doctor had been confident that his sight would slowly return of its own accord - and she was right. Each time Mac left the comfort of his dreams, the room seemed brighter, somehow. Tinged with red, but visible. The darkness was receding. Waking one last time, he yawned... and stretched... and focussed.

"Who's there?"

The dark shadow hovering nearby was blurry but unmistakeable. Adam Ross dropped whatever it was that he had been holding and froze like a statue.

"Um... boss? I wasn't... That is, I saw your phone and... I just wanted to change your... Wait! Can you see me?"

"I can see your outline," he said patiently.

"Awesome." Adam's relief was heartfelt. Mac felt a stab of pity, mixed with joy. His head was free at last - no more pain - and he tried to sit up. At once, the lab tech was beside him, plumping pillows and trying to make him more comfortable.

"How long have you been here?" Mac asked, full of suspicion. For that matter, how long had _he_?

"Oh - you know," Adam said vaguely. "Stella was here for a while. Then your doctor again. Then Sid and Sheldon... They left about ten minutes ago."

Mac nodded, waiting. He could tell that there was more to come.

"I wanted to talk to you, boss. On your own, okay? To say... well, I'm sorry. You know?"

"Sorry for what?"

"For the terrible night's entertainment." His words were light, but his tone was sad. "My party - it wasn't much fun."

"Oh, I'm chalking that one up to Danny," Mac said grimly. "Let's face it, you didn't invite me. He did."

Adam gasped with unexpected laughter.

"Really? That's so cool - I mean, poor Danny. Okay - then I'm sorry you got hurt. And..."

"And you're wondering whether you made things worse?"

"Well - yes." Adam's face was a shadowy mass, but Mac could picture the anxious expression as though it were clear as day.

"Adam. You're alive," he insisted. "So am I."

"That's what Flack said," Adam commented brightly.

"Flack's right. What about Thorne?"

"Arrested. He went kind of crazy..." The lab tech's voice was filled with a certain amount of awe. It must have been a memorable scene. Mac was almost sorry that he had missed it.

"Everyone out of the tower?"

"Yes, boss."

"And you - you're okay?"

"Oh, I'm fine."

"Really?" Mac frowned. "Isn't that my line? Think you can fool the master?"

"Okay," Adam conceded. "I'm a little sore. And tired. And hungry, come to think of it," he added, startled.

When was the last time that either of them had eaten, Mac wondered?

"Sleep first," he suggested. "Then you're sneaking out of here. That's an order. I want some decent food. Hospital dinners are worse than MREs. Meals, Ready to Eat. That's military food, to you."

"Yes, boss."

Mac watched the shadow settle heavily into a nearby chair. _Oh, Adam,_ he thought. And felt a vague, indefinable sense of guilt. All this time - and Adam had waited. "You did good," he murmured softly.

The only answer was a gentle snore...

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Walking down the corridor with Stella, Danny sighed. "And you haven't seen him either?" he demanded. "He's not answering his phone. Or his door. I can't tell if he's there or not."

"Where else would he be?" Stella asked.

"I don't know..." Danny's voice revealed the true extent of his frustration. Shaking his head, he changed the subject. "How's Mac?"

"Good." She smiled at last, with genuine brightness. "The doctor sounded hopeful. And he's making progress; I can tell. He's been sleeping for a while, but he'll be glad that you've dropped by. He was worried about you. Adam too. It must have been terrible..." Her face fell. Danny strove to reassure her.

"Over now," he said. "I'm only glad that we were there. Imagine Adam in that nightmare, all alone..."

"I know. I've had a lot of time to think about it, Danny. We all have. Lindsay and Don - are they on their way?"

He nodded. "That woman - Grace. She was wicked crazy. Makes Thorne look sane, if you ask me. I hope they lock her up and throw away the key. Cops or FBI - doesn't matter. Poor Anna..."

"What will become of the tower?" Stella wondered.

"Theme park?" Danny said bitterly. "Nah - ask me, those government types have got their eye on it. They've already taken the architect off our hands. Sneaky. Guess they want to crawl all over it and see what they can learn about Thorne's fancy computer and his nasty traps. After that? I hope they raze it to the ground. I, for one, would be glad to see the end of it."

"I hear you. How's your friend, Maya?"

"Upstairs. And recovering, as far as I could tell. Jane shooed me away." He smiled. Such an unexpected change in the pale young woman.

Reaching out, Stella opened the door to Mac's room. Sunlight met them, streaming through the slatted blinds.

"No way..." Danny breathed. A slow grin spread across his face. "Why, that little..."

Slumped in a chair, Adam Ross was sleeping soundly, dark lashes curled against his cheeks. He looked peaceful. Nothing in the world could have disturbed him.

Sitting up in bed, Mac Taylor smiled at them both.

"Nice to see you," he said...

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: The end! I made it!**

**If you have enjoyed even one small part of this madcap story, then I've achieved what I set out to do. I wanted to write something wild and fun that would appeal to lots of you. I've been amazed by your support. Thank you so much for all the reviews that you have written. I've learned a lot from your comments and you've certainly kept me going!**

**Adam Ross will return in "Out There".**

**Just give me a few weeks to recover!**

**Thanks for reading :D**

**And thank you, most of all, to 1917farmgirl and Lily Moonlight.**

**Smuffly.**


End file.
